Fade
by Dierdre
Summary: The worst has finally happened, and those who remain are left both physically and mentally scarred. How does one cope? Is it even possible?
1. Raphael: Coffin Nails and Conversation

**Fade**

_Part 1_

By Dierdre

Beta read by Sassyblondexoxo; Raphael fan, gifted writer and all around great gal. Go read her fics.

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**Disclaimer:**_They ain't mine, and I'll be just as poor after I post this as before. (Insert resigned sigh here)_

_This fic contains violence and cursing. Y'all have been warned:)_

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The elevator doors hadn't seen maintenance in months, and their sudden sliding squeals chewed through my nightmares like a hacksaw.

A lifetime of training and recent paranoia had me on my feet before I'd even opened my eyes, my weapons drawn and a snarl of warning on my lips. I relaxed quickly, however, when my vision cleared and a very familiar voice said, "Take it easy, Raph. It's just me."

I'd walked her to the bus stop only a day ago, so it was almost embarrassing the way my heart lifted at the sound of her voice. It was sad how depressing this damned place became when she wasn't around. Sad… but not exactly surprising, since the lair now had all the warmth and charm of a butcher's corpse pit.

Leaping over the couch where I'd restlessly dozed and belting my sais even as I dropped, my feet touched concrete and I padded silently over to her side. "I got these," I said gruffly, taking the two oversized grocery bags from her hands. Her quick smile was grateful and it warmed me to my toes, but I did not return the gesture. As difficult as she was making it now, I had to remember that I was pissed at her.

I pressed the bags against my side to hold them steady and said, "Why the hell didn't you call me first, April?"

"I had to hustle to catch the last bus," she replied, seemingly oblivious to the ice in my tone, "so I didn't have the time."

"Why didn't you just wait 'til morning then?"

She shrugged. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought us insomniacs could keep each other company." April paused for a moment as she looked into my eyes, still bleary from such an abrupt awakening, and suddenly looked contrite. "Oh, god, I'm sorry. You were finally sleeping, weren't you? I should go-"

"You're not going anywhere tonight," I said, in a tone of voice that brooked no argument.. To add emphasis to my point I shifted the bags to a more stable position and turned slightly, offering her my free arm. "It wasn't the restful kinda down time anyway."

Pride made her hesitate briefly before she gave in, looping her good arm around mine and leaning gratefully. Damn it, this was one of the many reasons why I didn't want her walking here on her own. Even the scant few blocks from the bus stop to the warehouse was enough to tire her out.

We walked to the kitchen in silence punctuated only by the stiff scrape and slide of her leg brace, a consequence of the injury that had turned her movements into an awkward parody of what they once were. All the natural grace that had defined her life and made her so fascinating to watch was gone, and although she never complained I knew the loss bothered her. It sure as hell bothered me.

April reached out with her withered left arm and flipped the light switch. The fluorescent lighting chased back the darkness just enough to reveal what a wreck the once-spotless kitchen had become. I knew I needed to clean up this mess -or at least wash the dishes and empty out the overflowing trash bin- but I just couldn't muster the energy. There didn't seem to be much point anymore, and it wasn't like Leo cared.

Leo didn't care about much of anything anymore.

I set the grocery bags down on the scarred tabletop and rifled through them as April carefully lowered herself into one of the rickety chairs. My search was quickly rewarded as I moved aside a bushel of carrots, revealing a carton of Camel Reds. Eureka.

Opening the cigarette carton and removing a pack, I gave April a penetrating look. "From now on I want you to call me first before you come over. Is that clear?"

April appeared to be paying more attention to the pack I was tamping down than to what I was saying. Her eyebrows drew into a small frown, an expression that clashed with her pixie face and close-cropped hair. "If I was a better person I'd refuse to buy those for you."

I snorted and tore the plastic wrapping off the pack before depositing it in a pouch on my belt. "They're the only things that help; you know that. And don't change the subject."

April's scarred hand absently lifted to her mouth and she bit lightly at the protective glove, a nervous habit she'd acquired sometime during the past few months. "I can take care of myself, Raph."

My eyes narrowed and I yanked open the refrigerator door, forcefully tossing in the carrots and various other food items in an effort to blow off a little steam. "Not any more you can't," I said bluntly. "The warehouse is in a bad neighborhood and with that bum leg of yours you're an easy target."

Releasing the door handle and letting it ease shut on its own, I spun on my heel and glared down at her seated form. There was stubborn glint to her eyes that I knew all too well. I suppressed a sigh. Since when had incessant nagging become part of my job description?

Hell, I understood why she was fighting me about this -the freedom to go where you chose was a difficult thing to give up- but this was important. I had to make her understand, so I gripped her by the shoulders and tried another dose of truth. "Do I have to spell it out for you, April?" I hissed. "You're all we have left. If we lose you now it'll fucking kill us." My fingers dug involuntarily into her flesh, and I eased back only when she winced. "Now promise me!"

She glared at me and for a moment it seemed like a verbal throw-down was inevitable… and then her eyes abruptly softened. She sighed and took one of my hands, squeezing briefly. "I promise, Raph. I'll make sure you're there to walk me from now on."

She could be more stubborn than me when she put her mind to it, so I was a bit surprised at her easy agreement. That is, until I looked at our clasped hands and noticed the slight trembling of my fingers. A tiny argument, barely a one on my personal Richter scale, and already my hands were shaking. Fuck.

I snatched my hand out of her grip, as if the burn scars across her fingers could still emit heat. "Good," I said. Just to keep my hands occupied and hopefully still the tremors, I continued putting away the food. I needed a cigarette in the worst way, but I wouldn't smoke while April was around. It bothered her too much.

The uncomfortable silence reigned for a full minute before April pressed her good hand against the table and slowly, awkwardly, levered herself to her feet. "Is Leo still in the dojo?"

I managed to keep my voice level, but its sharp undercurrent of bitterness was jarring even to me. "Of course. Where else would he be?"

"Right," she said sadly. Smoothing out her sweater, long-sleeved and oversized to hide the scars, she continued, "I'm going to say 'hi' to him. Then we can make something to eat and maybe watch a movie, okay?"

Busying myself with storing the canned goods, I grunted, "Sure. Whatever."

Her shoulders slumped a little and she turned away, limping out the door with her gloved hand clamped firmly between her teeth. I waited until her uneven footsteps faded from hearing before collapsing in the chair she'd vacated, cursing under my breath. Nice work, Raphael; guilt-trip her into submission and then ignore her. You're becoming more like Leo every day.

My hand ran across the tabletop as I berated myself, idly tracing a long scratch in the finish with a single finger. It had been there since we were children; proof positive that sharp objects and Mikey don't mi-

_-fighting to get purchase on stones made slick with my own blood, I was blinded and choked by airborne ash and still half deaf from the recent explosion, but it didn't matter because Mikey was under there somewhere, under this manmade hell of splintered wood and shattered concrete, and I had to find him and so I pulled yet another stone away and there he was, shell shattered and body broken almost past recognition and he had to be dead, except he wasn't for he opened his eyes and gone was all the warmth and laughter, replaced by something like death and, oh god, he opened his mouth and he screamed and screamed and screamed- _

It didn't last long, only a few seconds at most, but the memory fragment still left me gasping. From my suddenly rigid position in the chair I once again tasted ash on my tongue and heard a distant banshee wail of mortal agony. An echo of my brother's screams. Not again. Oh, god, god…

I felt bile rise in my throat, thick and burning, and I choked it back with difficulty. Sending my chair toppling backwards, I surged to my feet and began to pace, as if I could shake off the flashback by sheer frantic movement. My hands scrabbled at my belt and cigarettes fell like coffin nails before I finally hooked one with fingers that shook so violently they seemed to blur at the edges.

Matches were a hell of a lot cheaper, but I simply wasn't dexterous enough to use them at times like this, so I clamped the filter between my lips and I hurriedly lit up with the Zippo I always carried with me. Snapping the lighter shut, I gripped the cigarette between my suddenly clumsy fingers and inhaled greedily, the filter rattling against my teeth as I fought to maintain control.

A milky cloud of smoke had begun to form an irregular halo above my head before my pacing gradually slowed. Lulled into something resembling calmness by nicotine and slight oxygen deprivation, I just stood there for a long while, deliberately inhaling noxious fumes and waiting for my hands to stop shaking.

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More coming very soon!_


	2. April: Behind the Door

**Fade **

_Part 2_

By Dierdre

Beta read by Sassyblondexoxo. Go read her fics!

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I walked through the unnatural hush of the living room, with only the uneven and oddly mechanical sounds of my footsteps for company.

Clank, pause, scrape. Clank, pause, scrape. Oh, god, how I hated those noises. Especially now, as I gnawed at the glove protecting the delicate skin on my left hand, biting down hard in an effort to keep the tears at bay. A few harsh words from someone who only wanted the best for me and already I was weepy. I used to be so much stronger than this.

Part of the problem could be blamed on the medication. I was doped up to the eyeballs, my blood flowing with a constant stream of prescription drugs that kept the worst of the pain away and allowed me to walk with only moderate stiffness. The pills were messing with my hormones something fierce, so a few changes in behavior were surely to be expected.

…Oh, who was I kidding? The drugs _did_ make me more emotional, but they were not the reason why I was on the verge of tears. It was because of this horrible place, this tomb, where memory ghosts flitted at the corners of my eyes and taunted me with visions of happier times.

I didn't understand how Raph could bear to live here anymore. Hell, I could barely stand it myself for more than a few hours at a time. I wouldn't come down here at all if Raph didn't rely on me to bring them food occasionally… or if I didn't love them so much. Shattered and reduced as they were, they were still my family, and they had earned my devotion a thousand times over. I would do just about anything for them, including returning time and again to a place that made my soul ache so profoundly I thought I might die.

Finally reaching the dark hallway, I felt along the wall until my hand brushed across the light switch. Flipping it up and squinting into the sudden brightness, I leaned against the wall and simply stared at the dojo door for a long moment, before blowing out a low breath and mentally squaring my shoulders. Limping over, I rapped the knuckles of my good hand against the doorframe. "Leo, it's April. Can I come in?"

I waited for twenty seconds, thirty, before finally admitting to myself that he wasn't going to answer. I hadn't really expected anything else, but my heart sank nevertheless. It was stupid, I guess, but I kept hoping that the next time would be different. That he would finally answer me, even if it was nothing more than a rebuff. God, I would give just about anything to hear his voice again.

"I'm coming in, okay?" I said. Turning the handle and pushing inward, the door opened wide with a protracted creak that would've done any fifties horror flick proud.

Leo was sitting in center of the practice mat as usual, his legs folded in the Lotus position and a floor lamp burning at his back. He looked for all the world like he was meditating; that is, if one chose to ignore the limp way his hands rested on his knees or the utter lack of expression in his open eyes.

I knew I was going to regret it later, but I nevertheless lowered myself to the floor beside him. It was painful and a bit awkward with my braced leg stretched out straight and stiff ahead of me, but I managed. "Hello," I said quietly, reaching out and taking one of his hands.

Leo had been injured in the same incident that had taken away my freedom of movement, but, unlike me, he hadn't had the advantage of hospital care. With only the scant few medical supplies that Don had acquired over the years and the determined but inexpert care of Raph, he had hovered at the edge of death for weeks, his burns exacerbated by bacterial infections and improper treatment. Miraculously, though, the infections had eventually cleared and he'd slowly clawed his way back to the land of the living.

The turtles were an undeniably tough bunch, for Leo was sitting up only a month after the explosion that had nearly taken his life. He was able to walk short distances in another week and had even begun to practice his katas again. Raph had said that Leo had acted as normal as was possible under the circumstances, until one day he'd just … shut down.

That had been nearly a month ago, and Leo hadn't picked up his swords since. Christ, he didn't eat, sleep or even _move_ on his own initiative anymore. He was trapped within himself, locked in a kind of catatonic stupor that rendered him mute and seemingly oblivious to the world around him. It was as if his soul had suddenly packed up and left without a forwarding address.

He was no longer able to care for himself, so the only reason he hadn't keeled over a while ago was that he was susceptible to certain repeated verbal commands. He would eat if Raph or I ordered him to, and sleep only at our insistence. The rest of the time he would wander back to the dojo, fold himself into the familiar meditation position and stare expressionlessly at nothing. If Raph or I weren't there to make him move once in a while, he'd probably just sit there until he died.

When I'd asked what could have triggered this sort of extreme reaction so late in the game, Raph's response had been both cryptic and biting: "I took him to see the graves."

I knew Raph probably blamed himself for what had happened, as if he should have realized Leo wasn't emotionally ready to see the burial site; the final definitive proof that their family would never again be whole. But how could Raph have known?

How could _anyone_ have anticipated this?

"Leo, look at me," I said firmly. He seemed to be a bit more responsive today, for I only had to repeat the order once more before he complied.

His head turned slowly, almost mechanically, before he stopped and fixed his gaze on the skin a few centimeters above my left collarbone. No matter how many times I repeated the order I could never get him to look at me directly, so I didn't even try anymore. What I now saw in his downcast eyes was disturbing enough anyway, without being subjected to the full treatment. There was no still no recognition there; no sense that he knew who I was... or that I was even in the same room.

My vision blurred and I hurriedly crammed my glove into my mouth. God, I hated to see him like this. He'd always been the strong, levelheaded one. Who would've thought that Raph would be able to keep it together while _Leo_, of all people, would completely lose his mind?

I slowly removed the glove from my teeth and reached out, touching his cheek. My fingers brushed against the scars that ran along the side of his face, framing his right eye in ridges of mottled gray-green tissue. No reaction. His eyes were still as blank and empty as a doll's.

My throat was suddenly so tight it was painful. I had to ask, though, so I swallowed hard and forced the words out. "Where are you, Leo? Where did you go that we can't find you?"

I didn't expect a response, so imagine my surprise when his face suddenly changed, molding itself for an instant into something that almost resembled lucidity. He opened his mouth and spoke, the first word he had said to me in a long, long time. The scars across his throat had turned his voice into a cracked and ruined parody of what it once was, but I still heard him clearly.

I gasped and snatched my hand from his cheek, cramming it into my mouth for the second time in as many minutes. I turned away and stared fixedly at the wall, biting down hard enough for needles of pain to dart up my arm, and studying the brickwork as if it held the secrets of the universe. Anything to keep me from seeing the vacant expression return to his once proud eyes. Anything… oh god, anything at all, to distract me from what he had just said.

"_Where are you, Leo? Where did you go that we can't find you?"_

"…_Hell."_


	3. Leonardo: The Lost

**Fade**

_Part 3_

Beta read by Sassyblondexoxo. Go read her fics!

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At first there was nothing. Only silence that echoed in a darkness so vast it ceased to have meaning. In this emptiness could be found peace; the kind of contentment that comes from the lack of knowledge of one's own existence.

Then, the awakening of a single sense. A clank and scrape that seemed impossibly loud, and the whisper of a voice. A manipulation of soft sounds that should have had meaning.

Touch came next. The feel of a hand, soft and warm. Five-fingered and familiar in an indescribable way.

More twisting of sounds, now recognized as words, in a different timbre than before. The tone of voice was impossible to deny, so twist the body and focus on the source, as the darkness fades at the edges. A glimpse of skin, pale peach and ridged in old wounds, and the blur of blue cloth.

The hand, its palm covered in black cloth, fingers exposed, again reached out. An instant later the soft rasp of skin against skin, scars against scars.

A part that still understood the concept of comfort wanted to lean into the touch. But no. Movement without orders was impossible, incomprehensible, unsafe. To move was to remember. And to remember was… unbearable.

The silence was then flavored with more words, but with it now came the barest brushings of meaning. A question; it was a question.

_Where are you, Leo? Where did you go that we can't find you?_

Oblivion receded a little, grudgingly replaced by a remerging understanding of self.

…I'm lost in a place of darkness and quiet, where peace is broken all too often by a confusion of faces I should recognize and names that should mean the world to me but no longer do. Where the concept of 'I' now brings with it memories of pain and horror, and of loss so profound it blackens and sears to the bone. A recollection of graves that will never know the touch of sunlight and of initials carved with an unsteady hand into brickwork; a final testament to those who deserved so much more.

My soul shuddered and I willingly descended into the void, but not before I had time for just one more lucid thought:

…Hell, April. I think I'm in Hell.

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**AN:**_ A bit short, I know. (Bows low) I beg forgiveness, gentle readers. I promise, though, that the next chapter will be much longer and will feature everyone's favorite depressive bad boy: Raphael. :)_


	4. Raphael: Flashback

**Fade**

_Part 4_

By Dierdre

Beta read by Sassyblondexoxo. Go read her fics!

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The soup was beginning to bubble and froth in a rather worrying way. I frowned and poked at a floating lump of chicken with my wooden spoon, wondering absently just what the hell had made me think cooking something like this was a good idea.

I languidly exhaled a lungful of cigarette smoke and spooned out a carrot cube, blowing away the steam to cool it. I then stuck it in my mouth and chewed experimentally, before grimacing and hurriedly swallowing. Tough and almost burned on the outside, still practically frozen on the inside: another culinary masterpiece courtesy of Raphael. The Iron Chef ain't got nothing on me.

I shook my head and swirled the battered spoon through my concoction. You'd think three months of fending for myself would've given me some clue how to cook something that was even remotely edible. …Hah, stupid you. I didn't have the patience for working around the kitchen, much less the skill or creativity. That'd always been Mikey's department.

My heart lurched at the thought and I grimaced yet again, lifting the cigarette to my lips and inhaling deeply before the tremors had a chance to rattle my bones. I hadn't had a flashback all damn day and I sure as hell wasn't going to allow one to happen now.

A few more deep breaths of filtered smoke and my pounding heart had slowed to an almost normal pace. My sigh of relief was short-lived, however, as I looked back down the soup, now decorated with a fine sprinkling of ash. "Oh, crap," I growled.

A chain smoker with no skill, less patience and hands that were prone to shaking should not be allowed within a hundred yards of a stove. I'd religiously stuck to that theory, keeping us alive on a steady diet of delivery pizza and microwavable foods, until about five weeks ago when April had been released from the hospital and had started visiting the lair again.

It'd only taken one look into the nearly empty fridge for April to make it her sovereign duty to see that we 'ate properly'. This meant she no longer just sent me money, but instead went out and bought the groceries herself. I didn't like the fact that she was wearing herself out by tramping through the store isles on that gimpy leg of hers, and I _really_ didn't like that the food she now brought consisted largely of vegetables and frozen meats; all things that needed to be cooked. No amount of yelling on my part could sway her on either aspect, though, so I didn't even try anymore.

…Damn stubborn dame. She didn't have a clue the hell she was putting me through with this stupid health crusade.

I stubbed out the spent cigarette into an ashtray by the sink and once again stirred the soup, watching indifferently as the ash disappeared under the onslaught of my spoon. It wasn't like it mattered anyway. I doubt Leo had any clue what I was ordering him to eat, and food had long since ceased to have much flavor for me. Rampant depression and a pack of cigarettes a day will do that to a body.

I twisted the burner dial to its second lowest setting in the vague hope that I could at least get the vegetables and chicken to cook all the way through. Maybe then I wouldn't poison us all with salmonella, or something equally unpleasant.

A few more minutes and one cigarette later, I stirred the soup one last time and turned the burner off. The food looked horrible, smelled worse, and I was just waiting for the culinary gods to strike me down with a well-deserved lightning bolt, but at least it was done.

I removed one of the cleaner-looking bowls from the overflowing sink, as well as a metal spoon. Ladling myself a portion of the oh-so-healthy soup, I leaned against the counter and began to eat mechanically; ignoring the weird texture and the unpleasant way the hot food seemed to turn to dust on my tongue. I always ate before my brother; an act of practicality rather than selfishness on my part. Leo required constant supervision while he ate, otherwise he'd just forget what he was doing and wander off with his dinner only half-finished. And I couldn't let the bastard miss even part of a meal. He was already too damn skinny.

Tipping up the bowl, I downed the last of the liquid and gave the pot of soup a critical glance. I debated on having another helping, but quickly decided that my stomach had taken enough punishment for one day, so I threw my bowl back into the sink. The stack of dirty dishes wobbled dangerously as I walked away, bound for the dojo.

I didn't knock like April insisted on doing, but just pushed the door open hard enough for the knob to rap sharply against the wall. I'd never asked permission to enter a room in my own home before, and I didn't see any point in starting now. Besides, I kept hoping that Leo was just faking this whole catatonia shit and that I'd be able to catch him in mid-yawn or stretch. It hadn't happened yet, but a guy could dream, couldn't he?

My feet made no noise against the softness of the tatami mat as I walked over to my brother's side and looked down at his cross-legged form. His eyes were still fixed at some point beyond the dojo's brick wall, his hands slack at his sides. I gave him a sharp prod with my foot and waited a moment, not really surprised when there was no reaction. The lights were on, but still no one was home. I scowled deeply. 'Fearless Leader', my ass.

"Get up," I said. After a long pause and another fruitless wait, I sighed and crouched down, attempting to meet his eyes. It was useless, though; his gaze just kept sliding away. April had described some of the symptoms of catatonic stupor to me a few weeks ago, but the whole thing still didn't make a lick of sense. How could he keep avoiding my eyes if he didn't even know I was there?

"Get up, Leo," I repeated. He still didn't move and my hands curled into fists, my voice made gravely and deep with pent-up anger. "Get up now! Stand on your own two feet, or so help me I'll beat your face in."

I knew it was the repeated command rather than the threat that finally made him move, but at least he was standing up now. Straightening as well, I spun on my heel and threw another order over my shoulder, "Follow me." There was a hesitation and then the barely discernable sound of footsteps echoing my own.

Once again in the kitchen, I pulled a chair away from the table and said, "Sit down, Leo." It took two more repeats of the order before he complied, sitting stiffly in the chair with an expression as empty as a dry well. I breathed a sigh and muttered bitterly under my breath, "Good boy."

Ladling up a serving of soup into another semi-clean bowl, I set it down in front of him and curled his fingers around a spoon with stern instructions to "Eat, damn it."

Obedience came slowly, but Leo's fingers eventually tightened around the utensil and he began to eat in the same perfunctory fashion I'd previously displayed. Apparently he was hungry today, because I didn't have to repeat the order again.

He was about halfway through the bowl when I figured it was safe enough to turn my back on him for a moment. I put a lid on the pot of rapidly cooling soup and, using both hands, lifted it up and levered the refrigerator door open with my foot. I was leaning forward to insert the pot into one of the cool shelves, when I noticed the little interior light bulb had shorted out. Well, the fridge was going to have to stay dark, 'cause fuck me if I knew how to fix-

_-ducked the wide swing, my body bending sideways as the katana blade carved a swath from the air just millimeters above my shoulder. I lashed out with a sai and neatly severed the tendons that stood out sharply beneath the skin of my attacker's right wrist, feeling a surge of wild joy as he dropped the blade with a strangled cry, his fingers suddenly rendered limp and useless. A simple spinning roundhouse kick and the guy was eating tile, spitting out teeth as unconsciousness yanked him savagely from the fight._

_I turned my back on the defeated man and engaged another, metal clashing sharply against metal. There was no real need to kill anyone and I was feeling generous tonight, so I merely hamstrung the man and tore the kunai from his grip as he folded up like a marionette. Striking him across the skull with the pommel of my weapon, I sent the kunai spinning into the fluorescent brightness of the office building, where it buried itself into the shoulder of a Foot clan member trying to get the drop on Donatello. _

_The black-clad man went down hard, clutching at his shoulder, and my lips drew back into a primal smile of satisfaction. That was the whole point of this fight, after all; to keep the Foot busy and away from the __**real**__ players in this game. The rest of us were just a distraction, and I for one was enjoying every minute of it. _

_There was a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye as Leo flitted past me, his eyes closed as he fought off an unknown number of cloaked Foot-tech ninjas, that spooky sixth-sense of his allowing him to fight blindly with a speed and grace that surprised even me. He ducked an invisible blow, lashing out behind him, and was rewarded with a shower of golden sparks and the reappearance of a very surprised ninja. The look of shock faded quickly, however, with a snap-kick to the face from our Fearless Leader. _

_As the man crumbled silently to the ground, Leo cried out, his swords still twisting about his body in a deadly blind dance, "How's it coming, Don?"_

_Don didn't move from his crouched position by the machine, a black metal contraption that looked menacing for all its small size, but his reply nevertheless wafted over the sounds of battle, "Just give me a few more minutes, guys. This wiring is surprisingly complicated."_

_I was busy pounding the hell out of a guy armed with a pike (of all the ridiculous things to use during close-quarters combat), so I couldn't see Master Splinter, but I still heard his voice clearly, "You must make haste, Donatello. Time is of the essence." _

_He sounded a bit concerned, but a quick glance confirmed that he and Mikey were still holding their own against the Shredder. In fact, as I watched Shred-head fly backwards from a simultaneous sucker-punch to the jaw courtesy of both Master Splinter and Mikey, I decided they were doing more than just holding their own. They were kicking some serious metal ass. _

_I couldn't see what Master Splinter was worried about. I had a good feeling about this fight; Don would defuse the bomb, April would work her magic on the computer with Casey as her bat-swinging bodyguard, and the rest of us would take down the bad guys. It was cake, it was in the bag… hell, this world-saving shit had practically become routine. Something for the whole gang to do on a Saturday night. _

_I kneed one unfortunate bastard in the balls and used his back as a springboard when he went down hard, my sais whirling in a blur about my body. The army of Foot soldiers surrounding Leo and I were beginning to thin, and as much as I was enjoying this, I decided it was about time we stopped playing around with these small fry and helped the others bring down the big fish. _

_I signaled to Leo and opened my mouth to say as much, when a sudden cry from Don's direction brought me up short. I whipped my head around to find Don still hunched over the metal box, but his calm demeanor had changed, replaced with a kind of desperation as his hands worked feverishly deep inside the innards of the bomb. _

_Leo spun his swords in a furious arc to force some distance between him and his two opponents. "What is it, Donny?" _

"_The bomb's been rigged," my brother responded grimly. "It switched itself to a count down." A few seconds passed as his hands delved into the machine one last time, before his face drained of color and he suddenly shouted, "I… I can't stop it!" Don surged to his feet, his voice cracking with fear as he cried out desperately, "Everyone get outta here! Get out NOW!"_

_For a moment time stood still as everyone, friend and foe alike, suddenly froze, weapons and fists still raised in poses of attack and defense. _

_Then the true meaning of what Don had said jolted through us all like an electric shock, and a lot of things happened at once. The remaining Foot soldiers that surrounded me and Leo were suddenly no longer interested in carnage. Instead they darted away, some dropping their weapons or tripping over the bodies of their fallen kindred in their hurry to escape, as Casey scooped up a protesting April and ran for the office's main doors, shielding her with his own body. _

_Shredder used the distraction to execute a powerful split-kick that sent Mikey and Master Splinter crashing to the floor. He spun on his heel and would have made good his escape if a blur of green and purple hadn't slammed into his back with a speed and power I'd never seen Don use before. The force of the impact sent both of them skidding and sliding away from Mikey and Master Splinter, Shredder's armor kicking up sparks and ripping away tile, until they crashed through a door and plunged into a separate office._

_We had one final glimpse of Don riding on top of Shredder's chest like a lumpy surfboard before he disappeared into the darkness of the unlit room, the bomb clasped close to his chest. But it wasn't until we heard his cry of "Run, damn it, run!" that we truly understood what our brother was planning to do._

_A simultaneous cry of horror ripped itself from four throats as we began to run; not away from Don as he wished but __**towards**__, because he was our brother, our family, and to do anything else was unthinkable._

_We'd only made it a few steps, however, before we heard a roar of absolute rage, a truncated cry of pain and then a deceptively mellow beep from within the dark room, and I only had one last brief glimpse of Master Splinter running on all fours for better speed before a powerful force slammed into my side, sending me careening behind the dubious safety of an overturned metal desk, and then the feel of heavy weight settling over me, additional protection, my brother, and suddenly there was an explosion of sound like the end of the world and a burst of blinding light and searing fire-_

The pot slipped from my suddenly numb fingers and crashed to the ground.

A wash of soup, now nearly cold, sloshed in tiny waves around my feet as I stumbled away, an involuntary moan on my lips. I buried my face in my hands, my fingertips rapping against my temples in a shaky staccato beat as my whole body trembled. Breathe, Raphael, just breathe. Relax. It's over, it's over, it's done, so stop this shaking shit, you fucking nut job!

It took a few moments, but my legs eventually stopped wanting to fold up beneath me and the drumming at my temples began to slow. I took a final deep breath and slowly lowered my hands back to my sides, where they immediately clenched into white-knuckled fists.

Looking down at the mess by my feet, I grimaced and ruefully shook my head. Perfect. Just perfect. There goes tomorrow's lunch.

Suddenly remembering, my head snapped up and my gaze fixed on Leo's chair… which now stood empty, the bowl of food only half-finished and now stone cold. Sometime while I'd stood rigidly at the refrigerator, trapped in the delightful throws of flashback, Leo had forgotten my orders and slipped away from me.

I snarled, my eyes narrowing to mere slits of rage. How dare that useless bastard leave without my permission? Crazy, good-for-nothing piece of sh-

_-the desk slammed into my side as the explosion ripped through the building and it was only through the grace of my brother, my living shield, that the fire didn't snake around the desk and envelope me too, but that was no comfort because now I had to watch, helpless, as the flames roared overhead and seared into my brother, burning his mask away and igniting the leather sheaths at his back, tearing into the right side of his body and twisting and searing flesh with the curiously familiar smell of burning pot roast, and all I could do was reach out and try to draw Leo closer as he threw back his head to scream, and inhaled fire-_

My vision cleared again and I found myself on my hands and knees, gagging from the remembered smell of burning flesh, my heart pounding with such force it threatened to crack my plastron in two.

I shuddered and shut my eyes tightly, but found no relief even in this self-imposed darkness. The flashback was over, but I could still see a faint flickering image, like a badly superimposed movie reel, playing itself out behind my eyes. Images of flames roaring overhead with mercurial speed and of flesh charring from sudden heat, green skin peeling and spinning away from my brother's body in flakes of greasy ash-

My stomach convulsed and I clamped a hand over my mouth, tears springing to my eyes as I fought down the powerful urge to vomit. Oh, shit. Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. Goddamn it all to hell…

I don't know how long it took, but sheer stubbornness eventually won out over the urge to lose my dinner. I took my hand from my mouth and swallowed hard, letting my hand drop back down to the floor. My palm encountered wetness and I drew back with a start, opening my eyes and staring at the concrete. When my legs had given way beneath me, I'd apparently fallen smack-dab into the puddle of soup.

This whole mess suddenly struck me as rather funny. Here knelt Raphael -the hothead, the loner, the self-proclaimed tough guy- reduced to a shaking pile of neuroticism, with soup squelching between his toes and insinuating itself into the fabric of his kneepads. Raphael, who no longer had control over his own mind. Raphael, who suddenly had a wild and almost overwhelming craving for about twelve cigarettes and a stiff drink.

I was as crazy as Leo, as crippled in my own way as April, and about as useful to them both as a chocolate hammer. We were all doomed. It was just a matter of how much longer fate wanted to torture us before allowing death to deliver the final blow.

Laughter clawed its way up my throat, a compulsion I was powerless to stop in my questionable mental state. And so, my shoulders shaking and tears trailing lines of acid down my cheeks, I gave in to the urge, throwing back my head and howling in twisted mirth. The sound of it filled the lair to the brim, reverberating and bouncing around me in desperate echoes, and it was a long time before I was able to stop.


	5. Raphael: Aftermath

**Fade**

_Part Five_

By Dierdre

* * *

Lucidity returned slowly, but when my head finally cleared I almost wished it hadn't, 'cause fuck me if this wasn't embarrassing.

Sometime during my little coffee break from reality, I'd apparently crawled away from the fridge and wedged my shell into one dark corner of the kitchen, drawing my knees up to my chest. I don't know how long I'd stayed there, arms wrapped tightly around my folded legs with my face pressed against my kneepads, silently rocking back and forth, but even a few seconds was too much. Luckily no one else had been there to witness this latest psychotic development, or I might've had to commit seppuku out of sheer mortification.

I slowly straightened out of my tight huddle, grimacing as my leg muscles protested the movement. Apparently my trip to La-La Land had lasted long enough for cramps to set root in my thighs… and long enough for the soup to dry into a slimy-looking patina across my legs and plastron. Well, ain't that just peachy.

I levered myself to my feet, using the wall for support as I attempted to fight off a wave of dizziness. The flashbacks had never had such a powerful effect on me before. And while the fit of hysterics was bad enough, it was what happened afterwards that truly scared the hell out of me. One second I was laughing like I'd just swallowed a hyena, and the next a wave of endless dark had hit me straight between the eyes. Who knows how many minutes, just… gone as if they'd never been.

First flashbacks and now blackouts. I was beginning to wonder just who I'd pissed off in a previous life to deserve such abuse.

Some of the dizziness had finally passed, quickly replaced by one doozy of a headache, when I truly realized just how stiff my body was. I had obviously been out for quite a while, but for exactly how long? Hours? Days?

My heart clenched and I pushed myself away from the wall. Leo. Where the hell was Leo?

Both hands cradling my aching head as if it might roll off my neck at any moment, I staggered out the kitchen and through the living room. Throwing my shoulder against the battered door even as I twisted the knob, I burst into the dojo, the metal handle smacking against the wall hard enough to chip brick.

The muscles running down the length of my neck, wound as tight as harp strings from sudden worry, immediately relaxed when I saw my brother. Leo was sitting in his usual position on the tatami mat, the lamplight splashing the planes of his shell with highlights of muted gold. He had shown no reaction to my abrupt entrance, a fact that would've irritated me at any other time, but right now I was just too damn happy that he hadn't left the lair while I was incapacitated for me to feel anything but relief.

I leaned against the doorframe and blew out a low breath. According to April, who was the closest thing our sad little family now had to a medical expert, Leo's bizarre obsession with the dojo was yet another sign of catatonic stupor. A scary thing to see and usually annoying as hell, but right now it had served me well. Who would've thought I'd ever have cause to be grateful for one of the quirks of Leo's condition?

I turned on my heel and exited the dojo, closing the door firmly behind me. Let Leo stay in there a while longer. A few more minutes won't make much difference to him and I needed the extra time to get a few things done. Finding out the exact time was first on my list, closely followed by a hot shower and some clean kneepads. Then I needed to mop up the mess by the fridge and call April.

…Scratch that and to hell with the mess, I was going to call April now. After tonight's festivities I wasn't too proud to admit that I desperately needed to hear a friendly voice. I needed to see her so bad it was almost pitiful, and most importantly of all, I needed her to watch Leo for me tonight. I had to get the hell out of here for at least a few hours or I was going to completely lose my mind.

I made my way over to the couch and searched until my hand encountered the ridged dome of my shell-cell, shoved carelessly between the cushions. I guess I was still feeling the aftereffects of my first alcohol-free blackout, because my fingers fumbled clumsily at the buttons as I struggled to dial April's number.

Searching through tons of jagged rubble three months ago had earned me a plethora of new scars and nerve damage in both hands, the latter of which had left the tips of my fingers and the skin across my palms eternally numb. Extra concentration was required to make sure I didn't drop things, but while this new necessity was annoying it didn't slow me down much. Not usually, at least. A flashback, however, never failed to scatter my concentration, and it was always at least an hour before I was once again able to use my hands with any degree of dexterity.

Cradling the gadget in both hands and dialing slowly, my stubbornness was eventually rewarded with a familiar ring. A glance at the flashing VCR clock confirmed that it was nearly ten –a full three hours since my disastrous dinner- but the idea that April might be in bed never crossed my mind. That dame had a harder time sleeping than I did.

My assumption was quickly proven correct as the ringing cut off, abruptly replaced by the faint sound of music and a feminine voice saying, "Hello, Raph. What's up?"

It had been nearly three days since I'd last spoken with her, so I couldn't help the slight smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth. Christ, but it was good to hear her voice again. Too bad I was a taciturn bastard or I'd call her more often.

"I need you to watch Leo for me tonight."

Despite my lack of preamble something in my tone must have betrayed me, because she hesitated briefly before once again speaking, her voice now spiced with concern, "Flashbacks again?"

I sighed and answered with a cryptic "Yeah." April had enough on her plate already and I hated admitting to my own weaknesses, but I didn't attempt to hide the truth from her. Not after what had happened three weeks ago.

When she'd first left the hospital and started visiting the lair again, I had tried to keep the knowledge of my mental problems a secret. For a time I'd actually succeeded… until a flashback had overwhelmed me one night, yanking me away in the middle of a conversation with her. I had faded out with no warning, standing as still as stone for a full ten minutes, and when I once again came back to myself I found that April had wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace, her face buried in my neck as she sobbed pitifully. Apparently she'd thought I'd slipped into a catatonic state similar to Leo's.

Poor April. It had taken nearly an hour to calm her down.

There was a distinctive clank and scrape as she stood, and then the brief sound of shuffling paper. "The last bus won't be here for another fifteen minutes, so that should give me enough time to get ready. I'll meet you at the bus stop, okay?"

"I'll see you there. Thanks, April."

"Anytime, Raph," she said, her voice warm with a sincere affection that never failed to astonish me.

April cut the connection a moment later and I shook my head, letting the shell-cell fall to the couch cushions. That skinny little redhead was one of the few truly good things to ever happen to my family. She had dropped unexpectedly into our lives one night, like some sort of reward for winning last place in the game of life, and at first she hadn't seemed like much. As the years went by, however, she had proven to be one hell of a consolation prize. We wouldn't have lasted nearly as long as we did without her.

That line of thinking carried with it dangerous memories, so I growled lowly and banished the thought. Giving the digital clock a final critical glance, I headed back to the kitchen. I had to hustle if I was going to make it to the bus stop on time.

Some thirty minutes later, freshly showered, armed and shrouded in many layers of uncomfortable clothing, I checked on Leo one last time before drawing the sweater's hood over my head. The elevator doors haltingly slid shut after I stepped inside, and the contraption began to rise with a harsh screeching sound that quickly resurrected my headache and set my teeth on edge.

My temples were pounding in step with my heart by the time the doors once again opened. I quickly strode out into the mottled gloom of the warehouse and headed for the exit, letting my hand run briefly over the dusty paneling of the Battle Shell as I swept by. I really missed riding in that overgrown hunk of scrap metal, but I hadn't had the courage to step inside it for a while now. It had briefly served as a meat wagon for several of my deceased family members, and while I had aired it out thoroughly since then, my imagination still perfumed the interior with the faint aroma of roasted flesh and fur.

Shutting the warehouse door firmly behind me, I stomped my feet to force my heels more firmly into the ill-fitting shoes and made my way out into the world.

With stray leaflets of paper dancing madly around my ankles, I shoved my hands into my pockets and trudged down the deserted street. While the hood did wonders for throwing shadows across my face it did little to block the wind, and so I hunched my shoulders as a chill insinuated itself down my neck. October already. Great.

In another month or so winter would set in with a vengeance and the sewer would become a miserable place to live. Who knew how long the space heaters would last without Donny to upkeep them. If they tanked out on us halfway through the season, we might have to consider bunking over at April's for a while.

…A borderline lunatic and a mental vegetable crashing on her couch. Yeah, I'm sure she'd love that.

I didn't encounter another soul during my walk, although the distant cacophony of a sleepless city kept me company along the way. I finally made it to the bus stop, which was little more than a covered bench bathed in the sullen light of a nearby street lamp.

I made a move to step into the shelter, but was immediately drawn up short by the sight of a shapeless lump of newspapers and ragged cloth stretched across the seat. One of the papers suddenly rustled and was pulled back by a filthy hand, revealing the upper portion of a face topped with a wild mop of gray hair. A pair of cloudy blue eyes fixed me with a fearful gaze.

I must have looked quite menacing, with my deeply shadowed face and concealed hands, and so I nodded to him and quickly backed away. My actions and subsequent body language must have reassured him that I wasn't looking for trouble, because he eventually drew the newspaper back over his face.

Poor bastard. There was something wrong with a world that had people who were worse off than sewer-dwelling mutants like me.

Leaning against a wall so covered in graffiti paint it was impossible to tell the original color of the brickwork, I fished a cigarette out of my pocket. I bowed my head and lit up quickly, snapping the lighter shut before any possible prying eyes could get a glimpse of my face. I shoved my hands back into my pockets and rolled the cigarette around in my mouth, practicing the fine art of hands-free smoking. Now all I had to do was wait.

I didn't have to wait long, for the bus pulled up to the curb no more than three minutes later. Dropping the half-finished cigarette, I ground it under my heel and watched as the doors groaned open. April was the only passenger to exit the vehicle, making her way down the steps with the slow patience of the handicapped. She made it safely to the curb and looked around as the doors shut and the bus pulled away with the muted roar of an overtaxed engine.

April adjusted the strap on the bag slung across her shoulder and pulled at her left sleeve, stretching out the pink cloth to better hide the scars. She hadn't seen me yet, a fact that I was now grateful for, because I needed a moment to compose myself. Seeing her trying to hide her body like that never failed to tear at my heart and fill me with an amorphous sense of rage. The marks on her skin were the same as mine and Leo's; not merely scars, but war wounds. She shouldn't hide them away like they were something shameful.

I'd tried talking to her about it once, but she had quickly ended the attempt with an uncharacteristically clipped "you wouldn't understand."

It was none of my damn business, I guess.

I cleared my throat and pushed off from the wall, walking towards her. April's head whipped around at the noise, her eyes wide, but she immediately relaxed once she recognized me. Her mouth curved into a lopsided smile. "Hi, Raph."

"Hey, April," I replied. Taking the heavy bag from her, I threw it over my own shoulder and extended an elbow. She accepted it with another smile and we began to walk back the way I'd come, my gait carefully slowed to match her uneven footsteps.

The cripple and the mutant, walking arm in arm. The sight would probably be amusing if it wasn't so damn sad.

I wasn't one for idle chatter and she apparently didn't have anything important to say, so the walk back to the warehouse was a silent one. I didn't mind much, though. Right now it was enough that she was with me, so close I could smell her perfume. The faintly floral scent pushed back the smell of smog and garbage that typically choked the air, filling me with the comforting knowledge that, as least for now, I wasn't alone. It was a nice change of pace.

We reached the warehouse without incident and a quick check soon confirmed that we weren't being followed. I opened the battered metal door and motioned her through, following close behind and allowing the door to ease shut on its own. Pressing the elevator button, I easily slipped the bag off my shoulder and placed it by her side. This was where we would part ways, since I had no intention of going back down there tonight.

"Leo never finished his dinner," I said gruffly, "so try to make him eat something before putting him to bed, okay?"

"No problem," she said. The elevator doors squealed open and she leaned down and gripped her bag, dragging it into the musty interior by its leather strap. Before the doors could slide shut, however, she placed a hand across the sensor to keep them apart. April then blew out a low breath and gave me an entreating glance. "Look, Raph, why don't you just come back down with me? We could talk, or maybe watch a movie or something. I feel like I haven't seen you in ages."

Her smile was tentative and tinged with a terribly familiar edge of desperation. It suddenly struck me that she must be almost as lonely as I was.

I hesitated, torn between two conflicting desires. I wanted to get away so bad I could almost taste it, but at the same time I didn't want to leave her alo-

_-opened the passenger side door and carefully slid my hands under her ruined frame. I lifted her out as gently as I could, cradling her against my plastron like the most fragile of china, but still she whimpered. Her white face paled still further and I winced in sympathy. I could only imagine the agony she must be in right now._

"_It's okay," I whispered. The words were said in an attempt to comfort, but the lie behind them was so great I nearly staggered. Things would never be okay again._

_My hands were so numb I nearly dropped her twice during the short trek from the alley to the emergency room entrance, but I somehow managed to walk up to the glass doors without incident. It was very late and there were no people in sight, but I knew that April wouldn't be left untreated for long. Hospitals never slept._

_Easing her down to the concrete and carefully readjusting the blanket over her body, I kneeled by her side and said, "You'll be fine, April. The doctors will fix you up in no time."_

_It was another lie and we both knew it, but what else could I say? She seemed willing to go along with the comforting falsehood, however, because she closed her eyes and nodded slowly. She was a brave lady, our April. Casey would've been proud of her._

_Suppressing a moan of fresh anguish at the thought, I lurched to my feet and reached over her body, hitting the buzzer that would summon aid. The high-pitched and grating signal could be faintly heard through the thick glass doors as I once again kneeled by her side. The powerful aroma of recently burnt tissue would have made me gag, had I anything in my stomach left to lose._

"_I gotta go now," I said quietly. _

_She was barely conscious and didn't seem to have strength enough to open her eyes, but tears still forced their way past her singed lashes. Her voice was weak and hoarse from shock and smoke inhalation, but I nevertheless heard her clearly. _

"_Don't leave, Raph," she murmured, in a plaintive tone that broke my heart just a little bit more. "Stay with me. Please…"_

_Hospital personnel would be arriving any moment now and I couldn't afford to be seen, so I gripped her good hand in both my own, squeezing briefly. "I'm sorry, April."_

_I dropped her hand and bolted away just as several jumpsuit-clad men rounded a corner inside the building, heading for the glass doors at a brisk trot. I slipped into the alley shadows, pulling them around me like the concealing folds of a cloak, and gritted my teeth against the guilt as her final rasping words brushed past my ears._

"_Please don't go…"-_

I came back to myself with a heavy shiver and a sudden gasp.

Blinking furiously to clear my vision, I looked up to find April staring at me with wide eyes. She spoke hesitantly, her voice made indistinct by the glove gripped firmly in her teeth, "Are you okay?"

No. No I wasn't. I was about as far from okay as one could get. My hands were trembling yet again, my heart was pounding furiously in my chest, and I could feel my mind unraveling like the threads of an old sweater.

On the bright side, however, I was no longer conflicted.

"I'm sorry, April," I said. Turning on my heel without another word, I threw open the warehouse door and escaped into the New York City night.


	6. Raphael: From the Foot, with Love

**Fade**

_Part 6_

By Dierdre

* * *

_**AN:**__ Here's the next installment, gentle readers. Most of it was written in between exams and during bouts of insomnia, so please feel free to point out any grammar errors or fiddly bits I might have missed._

_Now, if y'all will excuse me… I have a bed I'd like to get reacquainted with. I hope y'all enjoy. :)_

_

* * *

_

There is an art to running that few people will ever understand.

It is not enough to merely pound the pavement in a mad rush to get from point A to point B. Such actions will often leave you gasping for breath, with a frantically pounding heart and limbs that shake from exhaustion. It wouldn't typically matter much, but when you also happen to be rushing towards a fight against people who _really_ want you dead, then such physical ramifications can be lethal.

The secret to survival, therefore, is control. Practice will eventually allow you to regulate your breathing and maintain a deep and even rhythm, which then forces your heart to beat strong and steady. Your body will then gradually bend to your will and running will become less like physical exertion and more like meditation. The sharp drumming of your heels striking pavement becomes almost soothing, your muscles relax and cease to ache from the strain, and your mind will slowly still its usual mad swirl of memories and emotions. You can run for hours in this fashion, crossing the miles in a steady, ground-eating lope, and reach your destination with little more than a light sheen of sweat and a heady rush of endorphins.

It was one of the first things Master Splinter had taught us and one of the few activities that still had the power to calm me. Which was why it was so unfortunate I couldn't properly concentrate.

I had given up trying to achieve that trancelike state after only a few minutes. I now ran wildly, recklessly, flinging myself from rooftop to rooftop with all the panicked desperation of a lifelong sinner pursued by demons. My clothes had been discarded long ago, fluttering down to the pavement of several seedy back alleys like wing-clipped birds, and the wind was no longer cold as it pulled and snapped at my bandana tails, sliding across my skin and cooling me before the sweat had a chance to form.

I ran until my vision blurred from the thick smog that snaked through the city's canopy, the lights below blending into one long sheet of multicolored radiance. I ran until the breath screamed in my lungs and the lactic acid began eating away at my overexerted muscles. My body was begging for relief, yet for now I welcomed every harsh pant and stab of pain, because physical agony was better, cleaner somehow, than the emotional nadir I'd endured for so long.

I have no clue how long I kept this up, leaping madly across the city without plan or destination, but there was no mistaking when my body finally decided to call it quits.

Heaving myself across a fifteen foot gap that I barely cleared, my feet hit the rooftop with an audible impact that jarred my bones and caused my legs to simply fold up beneath me. Sheer momentum sent me tumbling forward with an involuntary cry, skidding on my hands and scraping away a thin layer of skin, until my chin cracked sharply against the concrete and halted my movement.

Mind fogging over from profound exhaustion and sudden pain, I groaned weakly and pushed myself over unto my shell. I remained that way for a long moment, my breath hissing in a throat made raw from exertion and my heart pounding like a crazed drummer high on methamphetamines.

I was in the process of taking another deep breath when my throat suddenly closed. I choked, rolling over to my side, coughing and hacking for a time in a paroxysm of misery, until my esophagus cleared and I was finally able to breathe again. I greedily sucked in air, my cheeks flaming from the force of my coughing fit, and glared through bloodshot eyes at the weak starlight overhead. Damn cigarettes. I'd only been smoking for three months and already they were wreaking merry hell on my body. I had to quit soon or I was going to be the first turtle in history to die of lung cancer.

Sniggering humorlessly at the thought, I pushed myself into a sitting position with arms that shook from fatigue. I rubbed at my chin, growling when I felt the warm stickiness of blood, and looked around curiously in an attempt to get my bearings. Where the hell was I?

It took only a moment for me to recognize the location. I hadn't been to this area in a long while, but it figured that my body would seek out this place while my mind was otherwise occupied. It knew the route here very well, after all. The manhole cover that led to our old home was only a little over a block away.

A few more minutes of deep breathing and endorphins finally began to seep into my blood, dulling the pain and giving me strength enough to move. I stood cautiously and stretched my already stiffening muscles, before leaping across two more buildings and coming to a halt on one roof that held particular significance to me.

It was nothing more than a filthy rooftop, caked in pigeon shit and guarded by weather worn gargoyles, but a slight smile still came to my lips as my feet touched down on the familiar concrete. I had discovered this place during one of my first forays into the outside world, when I was reckless enough to venture above street level but not yet brave enough to wander far from the familiarity of home. It didn't matter that the building was owned by an obscenely wealthy software company; its roof had become _my_ place. I had often come here to be alone, when my brothers had pissed me off worse than usual.

Lowering myself into the familiar shelter of my favorite gargoyle, a hulking thing with a vicious snarl that I found somehow comforting, I did my best to relax. With one leg folded beneath me and the other dangling carelessly out into space, I sighed and stared down at the latticework of interconnected streets far below. Heights had never bothered me, not even as a child. In fact, I had always found them strangely soothing.

Watching humans bustling about, completely unaware of how blessed they were, somehow hurt less the higher I rose above them. They may have the unfiltered sunlight, the freedom of movement, the fresh food, the clean water and the whole damn world… but they didn't have this. The whole city was laid out beneath me in all its bizarre splendor, and as a child I'd imagined that all I had to do was reach out with a godlike hand and I could claim anything in New York as my own.

…God, I was stupid when I was a kid.

Shaking my head and reaching for my belt, I fumbled around with scraped and insensitive fingers in an attempt to find my cigarettes. I must've reached into the wrong pouch, because my knuckle slid against something rough and my eye ridges drew together in puzzlement. I pulled the item from its pocket and ran a thumb across the scorched bit of shell. My lips thinned. I'd almost forgotten about this.

A few days after everything went to hell, I had left the safety of my unnaturally quiet home and returned to the gutted office building. The entire block had been cordoned off with ribbons of yellow police tape and makeshift fencing, but the rubble had not yet been cleared away. It had only been the work of a moment to bypass the flimsy barricades and descend undetected into the rubble.

To this day I wasn't sure why I'd visited that damn place, sifting for hours through shattered concrete and blackened wood. I guess I was looking for some clue as to what had gone so terribly wrong, some inkling as to who could have tampered with the bomb so effectively that not even Don could stop it. Or perhaps I was just half-crazed from grief and needed something to do.

Regardless, it was during this aimless search that I found the piece of shell. Little more than a hunk of warped plating a few inches long, there was no real way to tell whom it had belonged to, but it had nevertheless taken just a single touch for me to know instantly.

I scowled and gripped the shell tightly; suddenly afraid it would slip through my treacherously numb fingers. This was all that was left of my gentle, creative little brother, who would've had the technological world kneeling at his feet if only he'd been born human. He had a plot right next to Mikey's, but without a body to bury, only a single initial carved into moldy brickwork stood as proof that Don had ever existed at all.

I had pocketed the bit of shell with the intention of later interring it with the rest of my family, but when I'd finally made it to the gravesite… I found that I just couldn't do it. It had seemed incredibly pathetic and somehow _wrong_ to deposit a single shard of carapace into a grave meant for a whole being.

And so, since I couldn't bring myself to bury it and I sure as shit wasn't going to throw it away, I'd slipped it into my belt pouch and carried it with me ever since. I'd taken it out often the first few weeks after the explosion, shifting it absently from hand to hand as I waited to see if Leo would live or die. My own personal worry stone. Depressing and macabre as hell, I know, but I don't think Don would've minded.

Sighing lowly, I carefully replaced the bit of shell and found the correct pocket, fishing out a cigarette. I was just lifting it to my lips when I felt a sudden chill shiver down my spine, the skin tightening along the back of my neck in an innate fear response. I ducked with the lightning reflexes of one very familiar with personal danger, my left hand lancing out instinctively, and plucked the arrow from the air even as it sliced past my shoulder with the distinctive hiss of displaced atmosphere.

I had little time to celebrate, however, for I was still in the process of scrambling for safety when my stiff muscles betrayed me, a cramp seizing my calf in a sudden twist of agony.

My afflicted leg shot out beneath me and my arms pinwheeled for a desperate moment, before gravity finally noticed me and decided to get down to business. My foot lost its hold on the narrow ledge and I was sent tumbling into space, my body dropping like a stone and leaving my stomach behind.

I plummeted without ceremony, the wind ripping at my bandanna tails and sending them snapping about my face like live things, and for a wild moment all I felt was exaltation. The ground eagerly rushing up to meet me was the unexpected answer to my prayers. No more worries. No more heartache. Just a few more seconds of freefall, a brief flash of pain, and then all my problems would be over.

…Except that Leo and April still needed me, and I'll be damned if I was going to die for such a stupid reason.

Adrenaline pounding in my veins with a newfound desire for self-preservation, I twisted around like an astronaut in Zero G and lashed out with my right hand. It was a minor miracle that my fingers hooked a slender ledge as it blurred past me, and full-out divine intervention when my grip held. Tendons screaming as they stretched and pulled from the strain of halting my descent, I was unable to stop a howl of pain as I felt my shoulder partially separate from its socket. My plastron slammed against window glass hard enough to drive the air from my lungs. An intricate spider web of cracks formed on the glass and began to snake outward as I hung there, dazed and gasping, the wind pendulously rocking my aching body.

It was a long moment before I had recovered enough to even consider moving again. I eventually reached out with my other hand to get a better grip on the ledge… and found that I was still stupidly gripping the arrow. My eyes widened in surprise as I noticed the length of rice paper attached securely to the shaft. Even if I hadn't noticed its approach until it was too late, the arrowhead had been deliberately blunted so that the impact probably wouldn't have done more than bruise. Well, ain't that just fucking peachy. I'd nearly gotten myself pancaked because some bow-wielding idiot was too lazy to just send me a postcard.

Gripping the wooden shaft between my teeth, I reached out with my other hand and slowly, carefully, pulled myself up unto the narrow ledge. I pressed the length of my body against the smooth expanse of glass and concrete, my heels dangling out over the brink, and began shuffling sideways with the deliberate care of one only a slight misstep away from messy death.

When I finally reached a corner of the structure, I dug my fingers into the tiny recesses of one window frame and risked a glance around me. There, separated by only a few yards of narrow alley, stood another building. Covered with graffiti paint at its base and much less fancy than the one I was now clinging to, it was still one of the most inviting sights I'd seen in a long while, for it sported a rust-covered fire escape running down its length. My ticket out of this mess.

I slowly inched my way around the corner, determinedly ignoring the protestations of my abused muscles and throbbing shoulder, until I had my back to the smaller building. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, fighting to achieve the serenity that Master Splinter had always struggled to instill in me. I then bent my knees and pushed hard with my hands, flinging myself away from the wall.

I executed a complex flip in midair, twisting my body around and removing the arrow from my teeth just in time to see the fire escape rush up to meet me. I landed hard and force of the impact drove me gracelessly to my knees, the metal structure bucking and squealing like an enraged horse. Safe.

I remained kneeling with my hands resting limply on my thighs, panting hard until the fire escape settled with a final protracted groan. Not my most graceful moment, but I'd take it. It just was good to feel solid metal beneath my feet again.

The simple act of standing up a moment later set all my nerve endings on fire, sending currents of pain arching from my toes to the top of my head. It was tempting to sink down to my plastron and let some of my exhaustion seep its way into the cool metal, but I gritted my teeth and resisted the urge. I had to get away from here before the bowman got bored and decided to use me for target practice again. With my luck, the next arrow probably wouldn't be quite so benign.

I was tramping through the sewers five minutes later, hugging the edge of the drainage pipe and ignoring the foul stench with the ease of long practice. There was no lighting of any sort along this stretch of sewer, but being temporarily blind had no effect on the length of my stride. I'd been through this area countless times, both alone and with my brothers, and could probably navigate the meandering tunnels in my sleep.

My pupils were so dilated that I couldn't help but wince when finally I rounded a corner and caught my first glimpse of watery light. I was getting close. About damn time, too, since I now felt like I'd been run over by a semi. Christ, even my _bandanna_ ached.

The light grew stronger as I continued onward, until I could see the outline of a wide ledge suspended a few inches above the sewage runoff. I left the relatively dry outskirts of the tunnel and stepped into the viscous liquid, my mouth drawing back into a sneer of disgust as unmentionable detritus snaked and sloshed around my ankles.

Quickly crossing the river of filth, I clambered onto the platform and shook the muck from my feet as best I could. I felt like an old man as I carefully lowered my maltreated body into a cross-legged position, my joints popping and creaking in protest.

The light from a street lamp far overhead filtered through a grating, casting bars of illumination across my shoulders. Finally able to see properly, I carefully peeled the fragile paper from the wooden shaft and tossed the arrow away, where it struck the runoff's surface with a dull plop. Unrolling the scroll and peering at kanji written in an elegant and unfamiliar hand, I blew out a low breath and began to read.

_Raphael,_

_The Foot clan seeks an audience with you and your surviving kin. A delegation will meet with you on neutral ground at eleven thirty tomorrow evening, by the North Wall of the New York Marble Cemetery. This will be a diplomatic discussion to our mutual benefit, and so both parties are to be obligatorily unarmed._

_I swear on my honor that this is not a trick. We have much to discuss, you and I._

The letter ended there, with only the Foot symbol stamped below in simple black ink, but no personalized calligraphy was needed for me to know who it was. This letter had been written by the new leader of the Foot clan, the one behind the blast that had killed my family.

Murderer. Backstabbing, traitorous bitch…

My hands coiled into fists, fingers tearing holes in the thin paper as my mind fogged over in a haze of red-tinted fury. I stared blindly at the sewer wall, hissing out my hatred through teeth clenched so hard they hurt:

"Karai…"


	7. April: Nosey Broad

**Fade**

_Part 7_

By Dierdre

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_**AN:**__ My thanks go out to Chibi Rose Angel, Pi90katana, Reinbeauchaser, Kikiyophoenix19, Isis-Lament and Reluctant Dragon for their helpful information concerning April's family tree. I don't touch on it this chapter, but it will have relevance in several installments to come. So once again: Muchas gracias, domo arigato and thanks so much:) _

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I would never get used to this. God, I didn't _want_ to get used to this. Ordering Leo around like some sort of dimwitted child felt wrong in ways I couldn't begin to describe, and never failed to churn my gut with a sick, burning ache.

But there was no help for it, and so I took a deep breath and said, "Please get up, Leo."

My eyes narrowed involuntarily as the seconds ticked slowly by. I hated the irritation I was feeling, but this was the fourth time I'd repeated the order and it had yet to illicit a response from him.

I grimaced and rubbed absently at my stomach through the loose weave of my sweater. If I could just get Leo to cooperate, then I could raid the fridge and see if there was any milk left. That was supposed to soothe the sting of a developing ulcer, wasn't it? I'd have to look through Don's old medical textbooks to make sure...

That last incautious thought constricted my throat like a garrote. I bit down on the glove that protected the palm of my left hand, teeth grinding lightly at the cloth as I fought to keep my vision from blurring. I was determined to stop this urge to cry every time I was sideswiped by an unexpected memory. I wasn't any good to anyone if my eyes were always leaking like a matchstick dam.

I was still struggling to get myself under control when Leo suddenly unfolded his legs and stood beside me, his gaze fixed at some point beyond my left shoulder. Apparently the repeated command had finally sunk in.

I blinked rapidly to clear my vision and removed the glove from my mouth, breathing out a sigh that was a strange blend of relief and sorrow. I was grateful that he was finally listening to me, but it also meant I could now clearly see the blank expression in his coffee-colored eyes. The sight was heartbreaking even after all this time, and it always filled me with a strange desire to find one of his bandannas. Maybe having his eyes once again framed by bright blue cloth would make the vacant gaze less obvious.

…Probably not.

"Follow me, Leo." I turned slowly and lurched out the door, stopping in the hallway until I heard him approaching with a feather-light gait a cat would envy. Even in his current sad mental state, Leonardo didn't know how not to be graceful.

Opening the door to his room, I stepped inside and flipped the light switch. Fluorescent lighting flickered on with a deceptively cheerful glow, chasing back the darkness and revealing his chamber. Everything was still neat and tidy, but the carefully positioned furniture and his artistically displayed weapons collection was now coated with a fine patina of dust. This byproduct of disuse dulled the finish of his carefully restored pine bookshelf and even dimmed the reflected brightness of his twin katanas, positioned in a place of honor amongst the lesser weapons.

The others had treated their weapons with respect and care, but tempered with the knowledge that they were just tools. Leo, however, had always been different. Simply watching him during weapons practice was to incite an emotion that bordered on awe, for there was something almost spiritual about the way he handled the blades. His swords were precious to him and he treated them as if they were extensions of his soul, spending a least an hour each day in their care and upkeep.

At least, he used to. Seeing the dust gradually form on those swords was probably the most valid proof of Leo's condition I could ever get.

I flipped back the warm quilt with its elegant Japanese print, and did my best to fluff the pillows. Task completed, I turned back to the doorway where Leo rigidly stood. "Come over here, please, and lie down," I said.

It took two more repeats of the order before he complied, gliding past me and stretching himself out on the bed. I wrestled the blankets over his form and tucked them under his chin, before carefully easing myself into a sitting position at his side.

"Close your eyes and relax." Reaching out with my good hand, I gently stroked the undamaged side of his face.

This method didn't always work, but it was the best I could do, since I couldn't simply order him to sleep. He may be catatonic and about as emotionally responsive as a floor lamp, but he was still a living being. I couldn't just turn his REM cycles on and off like a light switch.

It took a few more minutes of coaxing, but his eyes finally fluttered closed. I continued stroking his cheek as he relaxed, one recalcitrant muscle at a time, his breath slowing to match the steady beat of his heart.

I waited until his mouth had dropped open slightly and he exhaled a soft snore, before withdrawing my hand. A smile quirked the side of my mouth; fleeting and tinged with an edge of sadness. He looked so normal when he slept.

"Good night, Leo," I whispered.

I stood up laboriously and exited the room as softly as I was able, shutting off the lights. Glancing over my shoulder one last time, I eased the door shut as my shoulder muscles loosened in relief. That had gone better than it usually did. I loved Leo dearly, but it sometimes required more patience than I possessed to coax him into slumber.

It made me wonder how Raph managed when I wasn't around.

Sitting at the kitchen table a few moments later, I sipped at a glass of milk as I waited for my laptop to power up. Maybe a few hours of internet surfing would calm my mind enough to let me sleep.

Apparently it worked, because I drifted off after only a few hours, leaning against the tabletop with my head buried in my folded arms. I slept deeply and without dreams, until I was abruptly startled awake by the sharp rasp of the sliding elevator doors.

Nearly falling out of my chair in surprise, I jerked upright and blinked rapidly to clear the fog from my vision. I yawned and glanced at my laptop's screensaver, which flashed the time in whirling three dimensional letters. Four fifty-two. Raph wasn't due back for a few hours yet, so who the hell..?

Seized by sudden irrational dread, I eased my good hand into my oversized backpack. The bag, left open and propped up against a table leg, provided no obstruction as I reached into it and wrapped my fingers around a familiar handle. The kunai had been a gift from Leo before his mental breakdown, and I prayed silently that I remembered how to use it properly as I levered myself to my feet.

There was no way to make it to the kitchen entrance without being heard. My leg brace made that impossible, so I opted to wait for the intruder to come to me. I couldn't hope to fight him off, but I was still perfectly capable of pitching the sharp weapon and pinning him to the brickwork like a butterfly. Weapons throwing had been one of my favorite parts of Master Splinters training. I'd been rather good at it.

Holding my weapon at shoulder level, my grip loose but firm, I was poised to act the instant I saw an unfamiliar face. My heart pounded as I heard quiet footsteps approach, my blood stirring with the heady beginnings of adrenaline.

I lowered the kunai the instant I saw a flash of red and green, both relieved and oddly disappointed. No demonstrations of practical etymology for me tonight.

Raphael swept past me with only a cursory glance at my weapon, which I hurriedly tossed onto the kitchen table. It landed with a loud clatter as he opened the fridge and pulled out a half-full pint of orange juice. The door glided sedately closed of its own accord as he turned to me, thumbing open the container. That's when got my first good look at him, and my somewhat sheepish greeting died in my throat.

"Christ, what happened to you?"

Raph didn't answer, but instead tipped the container back and drained the remaining liquid in several long swallows. He was dehydrated and obviously tired, with torn skin and flakes of dried blood marring his chin and hands. As he finished with the juice and wiped a forearm across his mouth, the shift in lighting along the planes of his muscles revealed a swollen and deeply bruised shoulder.

My nose wrinkled. He stank to high heaven and looked like he'd been hit by a train. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark. "What happened, Raph? Are you all right?"

Recapping the lid, he threw the plastic container carelessly at the trash bin. It ricocheted off the side and hit the concrete, where it wobbled in unsteady revolutions. He didn't seem to notice. "I'll live," was his only reply.

Seeming to believe that a two word answer would quell my worries, he turned partially away from me and fished around in one of his belt pouches. He pulled out a badly torn and crumpled piece of paper, glaring at it as if it were the sole source of all his problems. Frowning hard, he balled it into a hard knot with a single fist and sent it sailing into the bin, where it settled forlornly atop an old pizza box.

I pushed aside my immediate curiosity about its contents and clanked over to him. Reaching out to get a closer look at one of his hands, I said, "Those scrapes look nasty. Let me-"

Making an impatient sound, he stepped out of my reach. "Damn it, April, stop hovering. I said I was fine."

He turned on his heel and slipped past me, vanishing into the darkness of the living room. I did nothing to stop him as, ever so slowly, my glove found its way between my teeth.

The words themselves didn't have the power to deter me, for he said something similar every time I tried to treat his injuries. No, it had been the look in his eyes. Flat and as lusterless as corroded copper pennies, but lit from beneath by a profound and righteous anger that held the same potential for destruction as smoldering embers. I had seen that expression on his face only a few times before, and it had always meant destruction and messy death to any who stood in his way.

Too full of sinking trepidation to care a whit about the invasion of privacy, I limped to the trash can and swiped the paper from its pizza box stage. I glanced over my shoulder in a surreptitious, guilty gesture, and then carefully unwadded the fragile note.

My knowledge of kanji was limited, and the paper itself was so marred by grime and puncture wounds that it was barely readable, but I nevertheless grasped the gist of the message.

My eyes widened in sudden fear, as a sense of impending doom swept over me in a chilly wave. What had Raph gotten himself into now?

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_**AN:**__ (Pokes everyone who's fallen asleep) Not very exciting compared to the last chapter, I know, but please bear with me. I'm nearly done with chapter eight, which will hopefully be much more exciting and emotional for my glorious readers. I should have it posted in less than a week, chicos and chicas. :)_


	8. April: The Art of Reason

**Fade**

_Part 8_

By Dierdre

Beta read by Sassyblondexoxo, with consultation from Chibi Rose Angel. Go read their fics!

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_**AN:**__ Fade has over a hundred reviews? Fade has over a hundred reviews! (Cheers in wild abandon, and then falls over in a happy state of shock) Lordy… never in my wildest dreams did I expect this fic to do so well. And it's all thanks to y'all, my wonderful readers. Y'all are my greatest inspiration, my best critics and my continuing motivation. Thank y'all all so much! (Removes baseball cap and bows low)_

_And now, without further ado… on with the fic! I hope y'all enjoy. :)

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The most profound and devastating emotions can sometimes have flavor. Sudden terror brings with it the taste of iron, as thick and cloying as a mouthful of old blood. It weakens the defenses even as it coats the tongue and clogs the esophagus with the phantom essence of mortality.

I was in no physical danger, but fear for another can affect the body as powerfully as fear for self. And so I stood in the kitchen with the note clutched in my ridged fingers, the bitter taste of iron creeping stealthily up the back of my throat.

The message was impeccably polite and phrased as an invitation rather than a demand, so there was no obvious reason for my extreme reaction. Leo had trusted Karai, despite the woman's unshakable loyalty to the Shredder, which counted for a lot in my book. Perhaps her intentions really were as benign as the note seemed. But…

But I vividly remembered the Foot's past treacheries, and the fear churning in my gut spoke of catastrophe.

I had no time to continue sorting through my feelings, for at that moment I felt a presence materialize behind me and heard a gravelly voice say, "What are you doing?"

Yelping in involuntary surprise, I whirled around so quickly I nearly toppled over. Raph had ghosted up behind me, moving with that eerie silence I'd never been able to copy, and was now staring at me with a slightly puzzled frown. That look faded quickly, however, when he saw the incriminating note in my hands.

I didn't even see him move. One second I was holding the thin paper firmly in both hands, and the next he had plucked it from my grasp without even brushing against my fingers. "You went through my _trash_? April, what the hell...?"

Despite my nebulous yet genuine fear, shame still made my cheeks burn. "I'm sorry, Raph, but I knew something important had happened during your run. I had to find out what."

He scowled and muttered something about 'nosey broads', before once again crumpling the note and tossing it in the bin. "Stay out of this. It has nothing to do with you."

"Of course it does! We're family," I said. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

He rolled his eyes heavenward. "That was just beautiful, April. You should write Hallmark cards."

Raphael, the nihilistic comedian. Great, just great.

Taking a calming breath and resisting the urge to kick him in the shin, I said, "I'm serious, Raph! I have a real bad feeling about this. You're not going to meet with her, are you?"

I had a pretty good idea what his answer would be, but my heart still sank when he let out a bark of laughter, a short-lived and sardonic sound reminiscent of gravel being crushed underfoot. "Oh, yes. Yes, I am."

My eyes widened and I reached out, gripping his forearm with urgent fingers. "No! You can't go now! Not like this. Not alone."

Twisting out of my grip, he glared at me. The sarcasm that had previously colored his speech was gone, replaced by a tone as flat as the Salt Sea and just as lethal. "Karai killed my family. Eviscerating the bitch and strangling her with her own entrails is only justice."

I had experienced too much recently for the graphic description to phase me, but the expression in his eyes chilled me to the bone. I had no doubt that he would do exactly what he said.

And that was it, the reason behind the fear that had gripped me since I'd read Karai's message. If Raphael went to her now, it wouldn't matter if her intentions were beneficent or not. He would charge in, loaded for bear with murder on his mind, and would start a massacre that would leave uncounted numbers dead. Himself mostly likely included.

Counting to ten in the hopes of slowing my pounding heart, I struggled quell my rising panic and to heed the advice my mother had always tried to impart to me. _Remain calm, cool and collected, April, and the world will bend to your will_. Wise words, yes, but Mom never had to deal with someone like Raphael.

"We don't know for sure that she was the one who tampered with the bomb. Stockman or Hun-"

"Have both disappeared from the face of the earth," he finished. "She probably had them killed, too."

The bomb had been intended only as a distraction, something to keep the more talented Donny away from the computer terminal long enough for Shredder's latest plan to reach fruition. It had never been intended to actually detonate. I know. I had been there, and I had seen the surprise in Shredder's eyes right before poor Don had taken him out.

So it made sense, in a way. Neither Karai, Hun nor Stockman had been present when the bomb went off, but Karai was the only one to make her presence known after the fact. She had the most to gain from Shredder's death, as well as the intelligence and the ruthlessness to quietly kill all possible opposition and tamper with the bomb right under Saki's nose. The deaths of so many of the Foot's sworn enemies would've simply been icing on the cake.

And yet…

"It's a possibility, I'll admit. But we don't know that it was her, Raph. We have no proof!"

His eyes narrowed to slits and one hand reached up to caress the pommel of his sai, an absent gesture that indicated his rising anger. "I know she did it, April. That's all the proof I need. Why the hell are you defending her?"

I tried to count to ten again, but was unable to achieve the clarity of mind for even that simple task. I had only the feeling in my gut to go on, but I knew, as surely as I knew my own name, that if he left tomorrow I would never see him again.

My composure was steadily, inexorably crumbling, rapidly replaced by despair and a wild, unreasoning anger. I was fighting a losing battle. I didn't have the right words to convince him to stay, and most importantly, I didn't have his respect. I was failing him, and he was going to die. Oh, Christ. Oh, god…

_Calm, cool and collected, April,_ I thought desperately.

"I'm not," I replied. My hands curled into fists, as if I could wring out the appropriate words from the chamber's musty air. "I'm just saying that we don't have enough information. If she's guilty, then it's more than likely a trap. But even if she's innocent, Karai is no one's fool. She'll have a whole army of Foot soldiers waiting in the shadows in case you attack her. Either way, you'll get killed!"

The frantic edge to my voice seemed to have no effect on him, for he folded his arms across his plastron and said, "Maybe, maybe not. It doesn't matter."

He sounded so… indifferent.

Fear-induced adrenaline shot across my nerve endings, flaring my vision white at the edges, and my temper snapped with an almost audible sound. My right hand snaked out of its own accord and struck him across the cheek with a resonant crack, hard enough to throw his head to the side and send a tingle of pain darting up my forearm.

The unexpectedness of my action froze us both. For a long moment we stood unmoving, his eyes wide in an expression that echoed my own. I didn't have a clue who was the most surprised at that moment, him or me.

Slivers of ice slid down my spine in shocked reaction to what I'd done, quickly followed by a nauseating sense of guilt. I hated the feeling, but it was nothing compared to my horrified realization that, for an instant at least, slapping him had felt good. Very good.

With my voice shaking and sudden tears clouding my vision, I took a deep breath and tried to apologize. But what I meant to say and what actually came out of my mouth were two very different things. "How dare you say something like that?" I choked. "It matters a whole hell of a lot, Raph. If you die, then what happens to Leo? What happens to _me?_ You guys are all I have left."

He seemed to have regained his composure, for he snorted and rubbed his knuckles across his red cheek. His eyes were dangerous, anger rolling through them like a low-hanging thunderstorm. "Don't give me that bullshit, April. You're human, remember? The whole damn world is yours."

Some of the guilt faded away as another bright curl of anger flared. "Now who's giving out bullshit, Raph? Look at me!" I tugged savagely at my left sleeve, pulling back the pink cloth to expose the livid scarring than ran from my knuckles to the edge of my jaw. My arm was now nothing more than a length of withered muscle wrapped in skin the texture of melted candle wax, and the sight of it was enough to make my stomach churn. "All anybody sees now are the scars, a brand of mortality on a person that used to be just like them. I'm a walking, talking reminder that they're not invulnerable, and that sets me apart.

"People are _afraid_ of me now. And if they don't fear me, they pity me, which is worse. My own mother can't talk to me on the phone without bursting into tears." I smoothed the sleeve back down, playing with a loose thread at the hem in a conscious effort not to bite at my glove. "Don't you get it, Raph? I don't belong in the world any more than you do. How can I?"

Raph snorted derisively as I fell silent, his narrow gaze hard and as sympathetic as stone. "Oh, cry me a fucking river, April. If you think that self-pitying speech is going to change anything, then you're not as smart as I thought you were."

He was wearing hostility like a protective garment, and I knew him well enough to know he didn't really mean the things he said when he was like this. But the words still hurt like a punch in the stomach.

"If you don't give a damn about me, then that's fine," I hissed. "But what about Leo, huh? What am I going to tell him when he comes back to himself? If you get yourself killed, then he'll die too!"

"Leo's dead, April." His eyes flickered, anger momentarily supplanted by an emotion deeper and far more tragic, before he turned his face away. Glaring at the refrigerator as if he had a personal grudge against it, Raph continued bitterly, "His mind died nearly a month ago. His body just hasn't caught up yet."

I winced as my emotional rollercoaster shifted again, climbing a spike of guilt and leaving anger far behind. "His mind isn't gone, Raph," I said softly. "He just needs some more time to recuperate."

"And how do you know that?" he snarled. "He's a fucking vegetable now. Nothing has happened since he lost his marbles to tell me otherwise."

Without realizing it, my hand had crept up to my mouth. I bit at the black cloth, teeth grinding the fabric in an effort to muster up some courage. He was going to hate me for this, but there was something I had to tell him. Something I should have told him several days ago. "He spoke to me, Raph."

His head whipped back in my direction so fast I actually heard his neck vertebrae pop. "You… he what?"

"Leo spoke to me. In the dojo, the last time I was here."

Raph's belligerent gaze was wiped clean in an instant, his jaw slack and eyes empty of everything but shock. A year ago I might have found his stunned-bunny expression amusing, but now all it did was scare me. Even without the facial scarring, he looked too much like Leo right now.

Shifting uncomfortably, I asked, "Are you-"

I never got to finish, for Raph moved so fast he seemed to blur. He was suddenly only a few inches from me, close enough that I feel his breath on my face, his hands on my arms in a grip so fierce that I soon felt the tingle of obstructed circulation in my fingertips.

A yelp of protest died in my throat as I was pinned by his gaze. He stood several inches shorter than me, but the height difference mattered little when fury and betrayal rolled off him so thickly it was almost tangible. Raphael _loomed_. "Why didn't you tell me that, April?" he hissed. "How could you _not_ tell me!"

"Because I didn't want to get your hopes up!" I cried, guilt and alarm making my voice shrill. "I thought I'd have time to work with him, to see if I could get him to speak again. If he did, then I'd know for sure it wasn't a fluke!" His fingers tightened even further and I whimpered, attempting to twist out of his grip. It was about as effective as pushing back the ocean with a broom. "Raph, stop. You're hurting me!"

His eyes flickered, anger blanketed by momentary surprise, and I blew out a wobbly breath when his grip loosened. He probably hadn't been aware that he was doing it. "What did he say?"

"I asked him where he was, and he…" I hesitated, turning my face away from that furious, pleading expression. "Oh, god, Raph, I'm sorry. He said he was in hell."

Releasing me so quickly that I staggered, he backed away until his shell struck the kitchen wall. His shook his head, eyes fever-bright with an emotion that was difficult to pinpoint, and reached into his belt pouch with a shaky hand. He pulled out a slightly crumpled cigarette.

I said nothing as he lit up, the sharp bite of butane and acrid smoke drifting past me and assaulting my nasal passages. He took a long drag of his cigarette, nearly a quarter of it dissolving into ash with a single protracted inhalation. My father had often done the same thing when he was upset, before esophageal cancer took him from me and my mother.

Raph bowed his head and exhaled slowly, tendrils of smoke slipping between his teeth and curling lazily towards the ceiling. He flicked ash from the burning tip with a practiced tap of a thumb. "Damn it, April," he breathed.

I sidled cautiously towards him and leaned against the wall, not close enough to touch but hopefully enough to provide some measure of comfort. "I should have told you sooner. I'm sorry." I seemed to be apologizing a lot tonight.

Taking a more moderate puff, he nodded slowly. All the anger seemed to have drained from him, leaving him exhausted and strangely hollow.

"But now do you see why you need to wait?" I asked, in a tone as gentle as it was possible to make it. "It will take some time, but Leo _will_ come back to himself. Between the two of us, we'll make sure of that."

I fiddled with the hem of my sleeve, pulling at the loose strand until it separated with a weak snap. "I'm still not convinced that it was Karai who tampered with the bomb, but when Leo gets better the two of you can find out for sure. And if it _was_ her, then the both of you will stand a much better chance of taking down the Foot than you would alone." My lips curved into a humorless smile. "Hell, I can still fire a gun. I'll help."

"But if you go alone, without knowing Karai's true intentions, then there's a good chance you'll just die. You'd probably take a bunch of them with you, but Master Splinter, Don, Mikey and Casey would still go unavenged." I reached out and laid a careful hand on his shoulder, my gut unknotting slightly when he didn't pull away. "So, please, don't go now. Wait just a little longer. Please?"

The silence stretched for a long moment and my heart sank to my sneakers, but when I opened my mouth to continue my plea, a hand reached out and briefly touched my fingers. When he spoke, his voice was so tired it seemed to drag down the atmosphere. "Shut up, April. You've convinced me. I'll wait."

My shoulders slumped and my knees weakened from sheer relief. "Thank god," I whispered, with the thankful reverence of someone who's narrowly evaded disaster.

He grunted in response and pushed my hand away. Turning on his heel without another word, he once again disappeared through the kitchen door, his footsteps plodding and uncharacteristically loud. Silence rushed in to fill his place, empty and subtly echoing, and for once I was grateful for the solitude.

More exhausted than I could remember being in a long time, I lowered myself back into my chair. Leaning back with my hands folded over my belly, I watched as ribbons of cigarette smoke wove themselves into a fine latticework above my head, before fading into oblivion.


	9. Raphael: Situation Normal: All Fucked Up

**Fade**

_Part 9_

By Dierdre

Beta read by Sassyblondexoxo. Go read her fics!

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_**AN:**__ Anyone who's stuck with me until now has probably been inured to moderate violence, but I thought I should warn y'all that this chapter has some gory content. Nothing to scar y'all for life, gentle readers... but some. I hope y'all enjoy:) _

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A long shower was no cure for exhaustion, but the hot water had helped to pound away some of the fire in my overexerted muscles. Once I had dried off and staggered wearily into my room, my headache had subsided somewhat and the pain in my shoulder had settled into a steady dull throb. I was so tired from recent events that my vision was blurring at the edges, and as I heaved myself into my tattered hammock, I wanted nothing more in life than to sleep the clock around.

But, as it often did these days, sleep was proving elusive.

Lying semi-comfortably on my shell, the hammock ropes squeaking as my minute body movements forced it to sway, I inspected the darkness behind my eyelids and tried to force myself into slumber by sheer effort of will. My mind was having none of it, however, for it insisted upon replaying the altercation with April in an infuriating, endless loop. Like a dog chasing its tail, expending lots of energy, but getting nowhere fast.

After about an hour of this I finally gave up on the notion of sleep and simply stared upwards, hands folded behind my head. In an attempt to distract myself from my circuitous thoughts, I counted the spiders skittering across my ceiling and listened absently to the water rushing faintly through hidden pipes. The lair's acoustics allowed me to hear every awkward scrape and slide as April moved about, clanking from one room to another in a manner than seemed as purposeless as my own inner contemplation. Every once in a while, I heard her sigh.

I suddenly wondered what she was thinking about, and then firmly told myself it didn't matter. It was her fault that we had argued, after all, so let her deal with her own damn problems. I had enough of my own without adding her trivial predicaments and inane self-loathing to the mix. I didn't care.

…Yeah, keep thinking shit like that, Raphael. Maybe one day you'll actually start believing it.

Sighing in annoyance, I sat up a little and reached for my belt. I lit a cigarette and passed the time blowing smoke rings at any arachnid foolish enough to venture within range.

Five minutes later the spiders were in a full-blown panic and I could almost feel my brain cells atrophying from boredom. Stubbing out the spent cigarette against a nearby wall, I flicked the butt away. It went sailing end over end until it came to rest with a dull clink inside an empty soup can, strategically positioned by the doorway. A perfect three-pointer. Michael Jordan, eat your heart out.

I was debating slipping into the den to watch some TV, to hell with April and awkward silences, when I heard her stride past my room and venture further down the hall. There was the soft sound of a door opening, followed by the low whisperings of a feminine voice. Six-thirty already; time to wake up the resident lunatic.

Well, that took care of that. I might be able to handle one or the other, but put me in the same room with both of them right now and I'd snap like a twig. I'd used up the last of my restraint with April, and my temper was now so short it was practically nonexistent. And despite being ticked at them both, I really didn't want to see them hurt. Especially not by me.

I dangled one leg out into open air and swung it idly back and forth, causing my hammock to sway rhythmically. Yes, best to wait a while.

The bar of light under my door was briefly disrupted by two shadowy forms, leaving the hallway and continuing into the kitchen. Moments later came the muffled clatter and bang of pots, and then the sizzle of fat on a hot skillet. The smell of cooking bacon wafted under my door and made my stomach cramp with need, but I ignored it. Stubbornness was one of my primary virtues and a little thing like hunger wasn't going to make me cave.

After a while the sizzling stopped and I heard April speak. It was too soft to make out the words, but its repetitive nature was unmistakable. She was coaxing Leo to eat, in a tone of voice that was gentle, patient, and infinitely sad.

I scowled and turned over on my side, firmly closing my eyes. It did nothing, however, to banish the memory of her expression as she rolled back her sleeve to expose her scars; a poignant mixture of revulsion, self-hate and loss.

…Stupid bitch. Scars or no scars, April was still beautiful. How could she not know that?

Amazingly enough, I must have dozed off, for the next sound I recalled hearing was a distinctive sliding squeal. I tumbled out of bed, dropping silently to the ground, and made it to the den just in time to see the elevator doors jerk shut. Cursing under my breath, I rubbed at my weary eyes and glanced over at the VCR clock. Seven forty-three. April must have left to catch the eight o'clock bus.

I swear to god, no one ever listens to me. I told her I didn't want her walking through this neighborhood alone!

Thoroughly annoyed and on a quest for my trench coat and fedora, I was halfway to the kitchen before it actually occurred to me that it was morning. Disguising myself well enough not to be noticed under the revealing glare of sunlight was difficult and time-consuming, and by the time I was actually dressed and ready to leave she would be long gone.

Ah, screw it. It was daylight on a Wednesday. Most of the killers and rapists have already slithered back into their dens, and despite her inability to follow simple instructions, April wasn't a fool. She'd be fine.

Telling myself I'd call later to make sure she was all right, and to yell at her for sneaking out like that, I walked to the kitchen at a more sedate pace. A quick check in the refrigerator revealed a bacon and egg sandwich, wrapped in foil and still slightly warm.

April had made it just the way I liked, with the bacon crisped nearly black and the bright yellow yolk still slightly runny. I ate it at the sink, tossing away the foil afterwards and licking my fingers to catch the last of the yolk. Maybe I wouldn't bitch her out too much this time. The woman may be infuriating, but damn if she didn't know how to cook.

My unexpected nap had succeeded in taking the edge off my exhaustion, and the food had left me energized and a little jittery. Exercise would help with the latter and would also hopefully tire me out enough that I could get some uninterrupted sleep. Which I needed badly.

Unfortunately, though, the only place to get a proper workout here was in the dojo. Some of my fondest memories had taken place within those walls, but now the mere thought of that room just gave me a headache. Damn Leo and his weird compulsions.

I was now so twitchy that the thought of a catatonic sibling wasn't enough to deter me, and so I marched determinedly through the den and down the hall. I threw open the dojo door and strode in, resolutely ignoring Leo.

My workouts the past few months usually consisted of beating on the punching bag until it snapped off its chain, but I was determined to do it correctly today. And so I stepped onto one corner of the mat, folded my legs into the Lotus position and closed my eyes, trying to compose my thoughts. Master Splinter had always said meditation was an essential precursor to katas. Something about relaxing the body, improving oxygen flow and shit like that.

Achieving the necessary serenity of mind had never been easy, but I'd usually been able to attain it when given enough time. Now, however, lowering my mental defenses and slowly draining myself of emotion did nothing but make me acutely aware of my surroundings. The myriad smells of home and the firm slide of the mat against my skin could either be ignored or used to facilitate meditation, like some amateurs would use incense. But there was one new sense I could not so easily brush off; the strange and unsettling feeling that I was in a room containing two living bodies, but only one active mind.

A headache was throbbing dully behind my left eye when I finally sighed and gave up. I rubbed at my temples in a useless effort to massage away the pain, and cut a glance over to my brother. The harsh fluorescent lighting colored the ruined side of his body a mottled greenish-grey, and with his rigid posture he looked for all the world like a stone carving chiseled by some demented artist.

If his expression were any emptier I'd be forced to staple a 'Vacancy' sign to his forehead, so it was hard to believe that he had actually spoken. And to April, no less.

Not to me.

Eyes narrowing in sudden determination, I slid across the mat until I was sitting in front of him. I was so close our knees nearly touched, directly in his line of sight, but his eyes remained downcast, unseeing.

I was no longer jarred by the heavy scarring that marred the side of his face, but the sight still managed to clench my heart in an emotion that was dangerously close to guilt. Leo had not been as lucky as April, for he had been treated by someone who didn't know shit about medicine. I'd done my best, but the infections he'd contracted while under my care had made the scars worse than they should have been. They were livid and disfiguring, and had tightened the skin so that the right corner of his lip curved downward into a perpetual frown.

All the guilt in the world wasn't going change anything, however, and so I mentally squared my shoulders. What's done is done, and I had more important things to do right now than wallow in useless emotion.

Taking a deep breath, I said evenly, "I know you're in there, bro."

It was perhaps the most inane sentence to ever come out of my mouth, but I knew it was true. April wouldn't lie, at least not about this. "You spoke just a few days ago. I know you can do it again, so say something to me. I don't care what."

I fixed him with a probing look, struggling to meet his eyes, and made a conscious effort not to let it disturb me when I was unsuccessful. If April could get him to speak, then so could I. I just had to change tactics somewhat.

"Donny, Mike and Master Splinter. Remember them?"

Caught up in a momentary, painful recollection, I paused. I remembered vividly the night I had taken Leo to the gravesite, armed with an old flashlight to guide us through the unfamiliar darkness. The tunnel we navigated had been long and winding, and almost unique in that it ended in a cul-de-sac packed with a foundation of coarse sand. It was dry and quiet there, almost peaceful, and far away from humans and their invasive curiosity.

I had expected him to take the flashlight from me and kneel by the crude brick headstones, touching each initial with scarred fingers. I had even prepared myself for the tears, his muffled sobs.

But I had _not_ expected for him to suddenly drop the light, clutch his head tight between his hands, and scream. The grief contained within that single cry had been raw, aching, and too wild to hold any rationality behind it. The furious vocalization of an animal howling with loss, its rage rooted in misery.

The sound of it had been terrifying, but not nearly as horrible as when he had just… stopped. His scream cutting off as abruptly as if he'd just been poleaxed, he had dropped his hands to his sides, shuddered once, and then relaxed as his face was wiped clean of all expression. His soul unexpectedly vanished. Gone.

I clenched my hands in my lap and shook my head, rattling away the memory, and forced myself to continue, "Heh, maybe not anymore. But I know they're the reason why you faded out in the first place, so you wouldn't have to deal with the pain of losing them.

"…Fuck, I don't blame you. Sometimes I wish I could do the same thing." It was a hard thing to admit, but it was true. I don't care if he said he was in hell now, it had to be better than this never-ending shit-storm my life had become.

"But they're dead, Leo. Dead and gone, and nothing's going to change that. It isn't fair. In fact, it just plain sucks." I leaned forward and gripped him by the shoulders, squeezing hard. "But there's one thing we can still do for them. Karai is back, _and_ _we can get even._"

I waited for ten seconds, twenty, hoping for some sort of response, and nearly screamed in frustration when there was none. I really shouldn't have tried this now, but it was too late to stop. I had to keep talking until he reacted… or until I had a stress-induced aneurism.

"Throw me a bone, Leo," I pled, my teeth gritted against rising anger. "Give me something to work with here. A word; a gesture; anything! I need to know that you'll eventually come out of this."

I shook him roughly, my hands clenched hard enough to blanch the flesh beneath my fingertips. I had to be hurting him, but I didn't care. Maybe the pain would draw his consciousness to the surface, at least for a moment. "Don't you get it, Fearless? I can't do this alone anymore. I need you, damn it!"

…Nothing. I'd just bared my soul to him, had just given one of the most impassioned speeches of my life, and I'd gotten nothing. Not a twitch, not a sigh. Not a single fucking word.

I let my hands fall away from his shoulders and stood up, staring down at the useless lump of idiocy that used to be my brother. My eyes narrowed into slits of ire, and I swear I felt a growl began to rumble deep in my chest.

Everyone deals with sadness in their own way. Some cry. Others find comfort in family life, or seek refuge in sickeningly healthy hobbies like painting and basket weaving. A select few will choose darker forms of release, such as drawing a blade across their skin or eating themselves into a diabetic coma.

Me… I'm a simple turtle. I just get pissed.

"Get out, Leonardo," I said, in a voice that dripped venom with every word. "Get out of here before I kill you."

My tone was serious, deadpan, but the threat was an empty one. Even now, when I was the closest I'd ever come to hating one of my brothers, I didn't want to see him dead.

I kicked the back of his shell when he failed to comply with my order, hands clenching at my sides as he rocked forward from the blow. The fit of violence felt as good as I'd imagined, and so I lashed out again, hard enough that I felt the impact shiver up the back of my leg. Christ, that was satisfying.

No, I had no intention of killing him, but I _did_ want him to hurt. I wanted to lash out with my feet and fists, to pound on him until the left side of his body looked as bad as his right. I wanted to damage him until he was forced to react, until he moaned, whimpered, or begged. I wanted him to bleed. I wanted him to _suffer_.

And that last thought, filled with such abhorrence that I barely recognized it as my own, was what finally stopped me. It was useless. It didn't matter what I did to him, because he wouldn't feel it. Not in any way that mattered, at least. I might as well be kicking a corpse.

With a truncated sound that was eerily reminiscent of my earlier hysterical laughter, I grabbed Leo by his right arm and hauled him bodily to his feet. Half carrying, half dragging his carcass off the tatami mat, I opened the door and hurled him through it. His carapace hit the far wall with a strangely hollow sound, and I was mildly surprised when he swayed, but remained standing. Usually when I throw someone against a wall, they fold up like a marionette. I must be losing my touch.

Glaring at him with every ounce of fury I possessed, I hissed, "Just stand there, you bastard. Stand there until you rot."

Slamming the door so hard the wooden frame rattled in its foundation, I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. My immediate compulsion was to shout obscenities until I was hoarse, but I forced myself to remain quiet, taking deep, even breaths until I could trust myself not to rush out and strangle Leo until his eyes popped.

It was a long moment before I once again regained some measure of composure. When I finally pushed myself away from the wall, I felt less fratricidal, but also strangely disconnected, like an addict floating serenely on his latest high.

It was a false calm, temporary at best, but I intended to take full advantage while it lasted. Drawing my sais from my belt, I moved to the center of the room and shifted my feet into a defensive stance. I was going to run through every kata I could remember, pushing myself hard for as long as it took, until I was so exhausted I couldn't feel anything anymore.

I began with the basics, simple maneuvers we had learned before our eighth year of life. The block and thrust motions flowed from me as easily as breathing, so naturally that it required no thought, and my heart rate remained stable and strong as I moved on to intermediate katas. I steadily worked my way into the advanced stage, and hours passed unnoticed as I began a series of complex and deadly exercises Master Splinter had been perfecting in us at the time of his death.

Gone were the preset drills of my younger years, for these katas had little to do with the art of defense and retreat. These were entirely offensive maneuvers, designed to deal out crippling injury or messy death to those who wanted to inflict the same on you. Survival of the fittest in its most lethal form.

Even in solo practice, there was an element of danger to these freestyle maneuvers. Your opponents may be imaginary, but carelessness could still be deadly when your weapons were flitting in a blur about your body, sharp metal slicing air with a hissing sound like an enraged snake. I threw myself wholeheartedly into these katas, however, for they were far too complex to allow room for hatred or regret, sorrow or grief. I was panting with exertion, my heart was trying to drum its way through my plastron, my shoulder was throbbing and my palms were slick with sweat… but the first time in a long while, my head was clear. I considered it a good tradeoff.

Throwing myself into a backwards roll, I avoided an overhand strike from an imagined opponent. I retaliated with a ground-hugging roundhouse kick that swept out the phantom bad guy's legs and toppled him hard to the ground, leaving him gasping and open to a gutting. Dispatching him was the work of a moment, and then I quickly stood, using the momentum of my rise to catch another creep across the face with the pommel of my sai. He went down with a crushed septum, blind with pain and effectively out of the picture.

I spun around, catching an invisible blade between the prongs of my weapon, and before this new apparition could find an advantage my left sai snaked out. The intent was to stab under my arm, my weapon slipping past his guard and through his throat, severing the carotid artery and snapping the spi**- **

_-hands had shaken before, from the aftereffects of adrenaline and the sudden shock of traumatic injury, but this was different. By the time Mikey had finally, mercifully, passed out, my hands were shaking so hard I felt the tremble all the way to my collarbones; rapid, frantic, and tinged with an edge of madness. My ears rang dully, a consequence of his tortured screams._

_I was crying, tears trailing down my cheeks in stinging lines of salt, but I didn't care. The horror of this was something I could not have envisioned in my darkest nightmares, and preserving my tough-guy image right now was not only impossible, but too petty to contemplate. I was grief-stricken, panicked, kneeling uselessly at my brother's side as my mind scrambled in crazed circles of terror. I didn't know what to do, how to fix this, how to help him. He was so broken, so bloody. Jesus, god…_

_The sight of blood bubbles forming over his lips in a sick, pink-tinged froth shocked some of the panic out of me. I clenched my hands at my sides, squeezing hard enough for my nails to puncture flesh, and inhaled a shaky breath as I struggled to calm my mind enough to let me think. I needed to do something, but I was no good to him like this._

_A few moments of deep breathing left me feeling marginally more composed, although my heart refused to still its frenetic pounding. It would have to do, though, so I swiped a forearm across my eyes, blinking rapidly to clear my vision. _First thing's first, _I thought, with a confidence I didn't really feel, _clear the rest of the rubble off him.

_Fresh wounds opened up across my palms, my fingers, my wrists, as I methodically moved away the shattered concrete. I barely felt the pain, however, or smelled the reek of burning blood as I moved aside smoldering wooden beams, still smoking and spitting angry red embers. Such things were superfluous, unworthy of consideration. Nothing else mattered but helping my brother. _

_The sight that greeted me once the last stone was pulled away was a bad as I had feared. As the explosion ripped through the building he had been thrown against the wall, which had almost immediately enveloped him in a few tons of blasted rubble. It had sheltered him from the worst of the ensuing inferno, but the sudden crushing weight had reduced his legs to a red ruin, nothing more than tubes of skin encasing splintered bone and ravaged flesh. Even if he were to survive, Mikey would surely never walk again._

_Bright flecks of red and white swam in front of my vision, and I swayed. I shook my head, chasing back the blackness eating at the edges of my sight with that single, repetitive gesture. No time for this shit, Raphael. Just get him into the Battle Shell, see if anyone else is still alive, and then get the hell out before the cops come. You can worry about everything else later._

_With those thoughts in mind I bent over him, slid my arms under his injured frame and attempted to lift him up. I had only managed to elevate his torso a few inches above the ground, however, before my bloody appendages lost their purchase on his cracked plastron. Scrabbling to hold him, terrified that even such a short fall would only injure him more, my fingers hooked the edge of his carapace… only to jerk free as a large chunk of shell came loose and dropped into my right hand. _

_I stared dumbly for a long moment, gawking at the wedge of bony keratin, and at the bloody shreds of partially attached muscle tissue dangling from it like grisly ribbons from an age-darkened tombstone, swaying limply in macabre celebration of death._

_With a visceral cry of revulsion, I flung the shard away. Staggering backwards, I rubbed my hands frantically against my thighs, as if I could chafe away the memory of the last few moments as easily as the blood dried against my skin, flaking under the friction and falling away. Distantly, I was conscious that I was now speaking, a low and rapid litany that was part prayer and part vehement denial: _

"_Shit, shit, shit, Christ, goddamn it, oh __**fuck**__…"_

_It was a long moment before I became aware of another sound, a curious soft scratching that ground on my nerves and forced me to focus on something other than horror. The fingers on Mikey's hands were twitching spasmodically, digits scrabbling amongst the rubble and ash as he whimpered low in his throat, suffering even in the supposed refuge of unconsciousness. _

_Despair was an unusual emotion for me, but I felt it acutely now, a sharp and soul- destroying pain, like a knife in the heart. The feeling weighed down my bones and compressed my plastron, turning even the simple act of breathing into a Herculean effort. _

_My brother was going to die. It was an inevitability, a truth I had known from the first moment he'd begun to scream, but had been too stubborn to consciously admit. He was too crushed, too shattered, his body kept alive by some twist of cruelty that could not last. Be it minutes, hours or days, he was going to slip away from me, and every preceding moment until that time would be agony. And there was nothing, not a single damn thing, that I could do to help him. _

_Except one._

_I collapsed to my knees and gathered my brother's head in my hands, cradling it as gently as one might hold a newborn. Bloody froth dribbled from his lips and slid down my wrist as he shakily exhaled. My eyes flooded, spilling brackish tears for reasons other than the choking, ash-filled air._

_Yes, god help me, there was one thing I could do. _

_Bending down until my mouth was just inches from Mikey's ear, I whispered, for the first and last time, "I love you, bro," and then twisted sharply until I heard the muffled gunshot crack of snapping vertebrae-_

My body was still frozen in the same position of attack when the flashback finally, thankfully, receded. Nearly blind from memory-fog, with my heart stuttering in my chest and bitter bile caustic against my tongue, I moaned, my weapons slipping from my trembling fingers.

One sai hit the tatami mat with a dull thud, the other following with a slight hesitation preceded by a sound like the tearing of wet silk. I was distantly aware of a quiet pattering, like the sound of far-off rain, and a thick coppery smell that was painfully familiar.

Alarm bells were ringing in the back of my brain, but I was confused, aching from the memory, dizzy and strangely nauseous. I could not combine these sensory puzzle pieces to make a coherent picture of what had happened. That is, not until I lifted my hands to rub at my aching eyes… and felt a white-hot starburst of pain detonate in my right forearm, sending lances of distress arching up my arm to tingle painfully along the back of my neck.

The pain was so intense and unexpected that I couldn't stop myself from crying out, clamping my left hand over the source and hunching myself against the sting. I felt blood well up beneath my palm, quickly filling up the small hollow and forcing warm tendrils of red out from between my fingers. Holy Christ! What the hell..?

Through a dizzying haze of pain, I looked down and saw the answer. The pommel of my sai was lying in a viscous pool that widened with every falling drop of blood, stained red across its triple prongs and with a small curl of tattered green flesh decorating the central tip. When the flashback had swept me up in mid-maneuver, momentum had apparently ensured that my arm continued its upward sweep. Instead of curving under and out as planned, however, my sai had punctured the skin of my right forearm and sliced deep into yielding flesh.

I had just stabbed myself with my own weapon. Fucking brilliant.

Grimacing, I lifted my palm away from the wound and stared in dismay at the three jagged holes in my skin. In the iron grip of old memories, I had stood for god knows how long with a weapon buried in my flesh, my blood leaking away in steady droplets of rain. Afterwards, I'd only made it worse by letting go of the pommel, where it had hung suspended for a moment until gravity tore it away, exacerbating the injury.

I placed my hand back over the gashes and pressed hard, fighting to reduce the blood flow. Damn, this was bad. The wound was too deep to clot properly on its own. I needed bandages, and I needed them now.

As it was, the blood loss was already substantial enough to make walking difficult. I lurched forward and clawed at the door with my injured hand. My blood-streaked, shaky fingers slipped and slid off the doorknob as if it had been greased, and it was only through a minor miracle that I was eventually able to get enough purchase to turn the knob.

I burst through the doorway with all the style and grace of a three-legged elephant, and impacted the far wall with my bruised shoulder. White light shot across my vision as pain spiked through my arm from two differing sources. I grunted in reaction, shaking my head in a furious effort to chase away the growing wooliness in my brain, and looked up to find myself only inches away from Leo.

He was still standing in the hallway like a good little soldier, unmoving and utterly quiet. I curled my lip back in automatic derision… before I became conscious of something remarkable. My brother was holding my gaze.

My breath froze in my throat and I stared, too shocked to move despite the urgency of my situation. His expression was still as blank and empty as the dark side of the moon, but for the first time in a month, I was looking directly into his eyes. They were a distinctive shade of brown, the color of rich coffee. I had almost forgotten what they'd looked like.

A glimmer of hope thought long dead flared to life, a yellow ember amongst a sea of gray ash. I swallowed hard, opened my mouth to speak, and just as quickly snapped it shut. I was afraid to break the silence, as if the mere sound of my voice would trigger a relapse on his part. But… what can I..?

Apparently not even words were needed to shatter the moment, for only a few seconds later he blinked, shuddered slightly, and then lowered his gaze to the skin just above my left collarbone. Gone again. Backslide.

The ember in my chest sputtered and died just as quickly. More disappointed than I cared to admit, and unable to stay and try to make contact again, I shot him a withering glare that went completely unacknowledged. Brushing past him with a heartfelt curse, I made my halting way down the hall towards Don's room. I kept my shoulder pressed against the wall, sliding across the rough brickwork in an effort to keep my balance. Despite the tight grip I had on my wound, I still left a path of spattered blood and red-rimmed footprints in my wake; a gruesome trail made by a nightmarish Hansel and Gretel.

I was so lightheaded by the time I made it to my destination that I nearly fell headlong through the doorway. The room was as black as pitch, oppressive in its silence, and I searched urgently until I found the light switch. Flipping it up, I squinted into the sudden brightness, blinking rapidly until my eyes adjusted. The old file cabinet, which Don had long ago converted into a medicinal cupboard, was across the room. Only a few dozen feet from me, but it felt like a mile.

There was no help for it, though, and so I pushed myself away from the comforting firmness of the doorframe. Feeling like a teenager drunk off his first bottle of 90-proof liquor, I weaved towards the cupboard. Within it resided various wonders of modern medicine, such as tourniquets, compresses and gauze. Things I needed to put to good use before I passed out, which was going to be soon.

About half a year later, I finally made it to the cupboard. Leaning gratefully against the cool metal, I tried to catch my breath and slow the mad hummingbird thrum of my heart. It was proving difficult, though, because both effects were caused by blood loss, not by mere physical exertion. God, I felt like crap.

Finally believing that I could stand again without falling over, I straightened and fumbled with the top drawer, my bloody fingertips making strange, thick imprints across its dusty surface. It took longer than I would have liked to hook my shaky fingers into the recessed handle, but I eventually succeeded and felt an absurd sense of triumph at my accomplishment.

I yanked the drawer open and searched through its contents with my free hand. I left distinctive streaks of crimson across every surface I touched, as I pawed with increasing urgency through disposable clamps, rolls of surgical tape and silk thread, scissors, and packets of curved needles. It was a small but eclectic batch of tools, seeming to contain just about everything an amateur doctor could desire… except for the precious few items I needed.

With a sinking feeling of trepidation in my gut and a burgeoning sense of a small but vital task forgotten, I slammed the drawer shut and painfully levered open the last. Medicines of various types, carefully packaged scalpels, retractors and things I didn't even have a name for, but no gauze, no cloth compresses.

Now, when it was far too late to do me any damn good at all, I remembered that I'd used the last of the bandages to wrap wounds received during a back alley brawl a few weeks ago. I'd been meaning to ask April to stop by the pharmacy so I could restock, but I'd repeatedly put it off and had, eventually, forgotten about the need.

Well, ain't that just peachy. I'd never been absentminded before in my life, but it was starting to look like this one lapse might get me killed. If I was still able to think clearly, this whole situation would probably be fucking hilarious.

Thoroughly annoyed at my own stupidity, my thoughts as fuzzy and slow as if my head was stuffed with cotton wool, I slammed the second drawer shut and quickly straightened.

This was another sublimely idiotic move on my part, for my body was now too weak to tolerate such things. My vision swam, the world tilting dizzily on its axis, and I swung out a leg to compensate. The heel of my foot came to rest on a small puddle of blood that had formed while I searched the cabinet, and my leg shot out from beneath me like a ball bearing in zero-friction fluid.

I yelped and flailed with my good arm, struggling to stay upright. My hand caught the handle of the top drawer, which opened and separated from the main cabinet with a metallic snap. The drawer went flying, scattering medical supplies to every corner of the room, and succeeded in twisting my body around so that my plastron impacted the floor at just the right angle to drive all the air from my lungs.

Coughing raggedly and struggling to breathe with lungs that seemed suddenly coated with phosphorus, I attempted to push myself to my knees… and found I couldn't. It felt as if every bone in my body was lined with lead, and I couldn't seem to coordinate my muscles enough to gain any leverage. The nausea had increased threefold, now so bad that I could barely think through the sick churning in my gut.

I rested my left cheekbone against the concrete and closed my eyes, willing myself not to loose the meager contents of my stomach. Some of the queasiness seemed to seep from my pores as I lay against the cool stone, although it did little to ease the confused muddle of my thoughts. All I knew was that I was suddenly very, very tired.

There was a touch of warmth against my lips and my tongue darted out reflexively, licking away the wetness. Copper and iron, with the viscous texture of melted chocolate. The all too familiar taste of blood.

It took an alarming amount of effort to force my eyelids open. When I finally succeeded, I was greeted by the sight of my arm, elbow crooked, stretched out before me. A small pool of crimson, fed from the tears in my skin and following the cracks in the concrete, was spider-webbing out in an inexorably widening pool.

My vision was narrowing at the edges, the rest of the room shrinking away and fading into unimportance as I stared, strangely fascinated, at the growing collection of my own lifeblood. I realized then that I was hemorrhaging, blood trickling steadily from self-made wounds that would not close, but I was no longer capable of doing anything to stop it.

The phrase 'tunnel vision' swam hazily through my brain as I felt my heartbeat begin to slow, and I knew I was on the verge of passing out. I fought against it, my hands twitching spasmodically, fingers reaching out and grasping at nothing as I struggled to stay awake. The peace of unconsciousness would be welcome at this moment, but if I allowed my eyes to close it would probably be the last thing I'd ever do.

Insensible, unaided and utterly alone, I would bleed to death.


	10. Leonardo: Breaking the Surface

**Fade**

_Part 10_

By Dierdre

Beta read by Sassyblondexoxo. Go read her fics!

* * *

Arching and spitting along forgotten nerve endings, it shook the stillness and chased back the dark in a way that few things still could. It was a grounding force, this sudden pain, a tangible reminder of an existence willingly, mercifully, forgotten.

Vision was the first to return, the black retreating and fading away like mist exposed to the killing sun. An abrupt awareness of watery light flickering in a staccato beat from aged fluorescent bulbs, nestled deep within a crisscrossing network of rust-mottled pipes. A corridor of bricks, dirty brown, cracked, and streaked with crumbling mortar dust.

Swelling waves of confusion, called forth by surroundings simultaneously familiar and strange, swept away numbness to expose the first diamond edge of reason. A sense of self in its most primitive form.

Then came a voice, gravely and twisted with an emotion that could not be understood, only obeyed. _Just stand there, you bastard. Stand there until you rot._

Confusion ebbed and muscles relaxed as the order --clear, succinct and irrefutable-- strove to bury unwanted rationality beneath accustomed obedience. A hidden soul seeking with sad eagerness the relief of endless dark.

But oblivion never came, denied entrance by the continuing sensations of abused muscle and bone. Terror rose with every passing moment, as did a singular kind of suffering.

Trapped in limbo, balancing the trembling knife's edge between heaven and earth, it was a swelling agony that had nothing to do with the flesh. When reason and insanity warred, when fragments of discarded memory bubbled like pus beneath the skin, threatening to burst and expel horror, there was only one word that could describe the misery:

_Hell._

Oh, god, someone help me…

That single lucid thought echoed, reverberating endlessly through twisted corridors of a mind long disused and denied. Echolocation of the worst kind, for it bounced off these mental walls and sent back tiny pulses of recollection, a tangle of senses that flashed and flickered out too quickly to be understood.

A smile, wide grin beneath an orange mask; now purple; now red. Flashes of short black hair and the soft, forbidden touch of skin. Low cries of abject rage, overlaid by a soothing voice, gentle and loving. A first taste of snow, cold and sweet against the tongue, mixed with the sour tang of fear-sweat. The discordant smells of tea and grave dirt.

A confused jumble of emotions accompanied these visions, madly dancing between extremes; all too quick, all too much to take. It felt like drowning. It felt like death.

…someone help…

Salvation came in the form of a surprised cry, truncated and pain-wracked, shortly followed by the crash of wood against brick. A body fell heavily against the wall, the meaty sound cutting through chaos and providing relief, however temporary.

Habit screamed to look down and away, but sight was inexorably drawn towards a pair of amber eyes. Narrow and cloudy with hurt… and then suddenly transformed, made luminous with shock and a kind of wild hope. They were windows into memories that could not be borne, no safety within the gaze, but there was something about them, something familiar-

Red. Red-shot eyes, red mask, red wound, red… red water. Falling to the floor in strange droplets, thick and reeking of metal.

No, not water...

A terrible knowledge beckoned, so sudden and alarming that not even corporal pain could prevent a reemergence of the void. It rose up and ate away all but the barest pinprick of light and reason, seeking self-preservation through oblivion. And yet that carefully constructed safety net could not last, not while the body ached and nebulous comprehension tore through the dusty corridors of the mind like a maddened dog.

Slowly, grudgingly, vision returned and understanding dawned.

…For the first time in what seemed an age, I took a step of my own volition. Memories surged just beneath the surface at this act of rebellion and my soul convulsed in denial, but I was driven by a compulsion more profound than madness, deeper than blind obedience. It was an urge born out of a lifetime of habit, and of love.

Someone whose name I could not remember, but whose life meant more than the world, was in trouble. And though each step was agony, I had to follow this crimson trail to its source. I _must_.

Gritting my teeth, I began to move.

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_**AN:**__ Terribly short, I know, especially for the length of time it took to update. I'll do my best to rectify both issues next chapter, gentle readers. :)_


	11. Raphael: Masterpiece in Red

**Fade**

_Part 11_

By Dierdre

Beta read by Sassyblondexoxo. Go read her fics!

* * *

In my experience, there was little truth to the near-death mythos.

I've been in similar situations before --trapped in spiraling weakness, lying prone and waiting for death-- and I've never had my life flash before my eyes. I've never seen a white tunnel, had an out of body experience, or felt a blanketing sense of peace. Dying was hard enough without such dramatic bells and whistles.

There _was_ a grain of truth in one of the rumors, however. The many reports of lost peripheral vision, coupled with a strange and irresistible fascination with even the most mundane of things, was a familiar phenomenon. These could be our final moments, instinct whispered, so let's take in everything, every detail...

Tunnel vision, it was called, and I felt it acutely now.

My struggles had dwindled almost to nothing, the pain subsiding to a dull ache as my body began to shut down, and the sight of blood had become my whole world. The feel of it sliding down my skin was not a new thing, nor was its taste, or the cloying way it filled my nostrils with the distinctive scent of metal… yet I was mesmerized by the tiny rivulets seeping from the tears in my skin, frozen at the edges of consciousness by the faint splash of droplets falling into the pool of red below. I was noticing things I never had before, how dark and strange it looked against my skin; the way a hanging drop trembled with the miniscule vibrations of a living body, shining bright ruby in the fluorescent lighting; and how the expanding edges of the blood pool stained the concrete a deep, rich red, like the color of ripe cherries.

It was strange and morbid, this sudden enthrallment, but I could no more look away now than I could fly. It was the only thing that kept me conscious and aware, the only thing that kept me alive. That… and a profound core of anger, burning bright and hot enough to keep the darkness at bay. Anger directed mostly at myself.

Raphael, the great ninja, a victim of accidental suicide. What irony. What a fucking stupid way to die.

It would be a few days yet before April, used to my long periods of silence, would think to call. Perhaps another day before she grew worried enough to make the dangerous trek to the lair. She would notice the quiet first, and then the hallway's trail of dried blood, staining the walls and floor with a spattering of rust. And in following that grisly path, she would find me.

I didn't want the sight of my decaying corpse to be her last memory of me. And I didn't want to die without telling her… so many things. How much we'd appreciated everything she had done for us. How we had admired her, our first human friend, for her rare courage and unshakable loyalty. How very much we had loved her.

_God, April, you deserved better than us. Better than me…_

My wound twinged and I shuddered in reaction, the brief pulse of agony yanking my fraying mind in a new direction. Another highlight of regret from a list already painfully long.

Still trapped within his own mind, Leo would stand obediently in the hallway until he either forgot my order or was found by April. He was still not fully recovered from his injuries; he couldn't afford to go three or more days without food, water, or any sort of care at all. His body wouldn't be able to handle it.

In killing myself, I might have just killed my brother, too. Fuck.

And if Leo did survive, and by some miracle eventually found his way back into sanity, would he remember the last month? Would he remember every rotten thing I'd said to him, all the awful things I'd done? God help me, I hoped not.

Another thick bead fell from my skin and dropped into the crimson puddle, and I felt the warmth as it rippled and lapped against my chin in tiny waves. I could do nothing but watch, sickened by its beauty, as the light played bands of bright scarlet and burgundy across its shifting surface.

Christ, I needed a cigarette…

It was a small sound, almost too faint to detect, but I nevertheless heard the rasp of a callused heel scraping against concrete. A slight shift in the air and a change in the texture of light only served to confirm what I already knew: I wasn't alone in the room anymore.

I rolled my eyes up and squinted furiously, as if peering into sunny daylight from the bottom of a dry well. A figure swam into focus before my failing vision, silhouetted at the threshold by the stark hallway lights. With a compact body, rounded shoulders and distinctive baldpate, the figure was terribly familiar.

Drunk from blood loss, my mind much too fogged for clarity, I ran a tongue across my dry lips and murmured hoarsely, "Donny?"

The figure stiffened at the name, cocking its head to one side in a surprisingly birdlike fashion, before taking its first hesitant step through the doorway. Passing beyond the radius of the hall's fluorescent lighting, new luminescence fell across his shoulders and cast shifting, ominous shadows along the planes of its face. A glimpse of livid scarring, a slight shift of perspective, and then I suddenly understood who it was.

My breath froze in my throat, heartbeat quickening with shock almost profound enough to send me over the edge into oblivion. It couldn't be…

"_Leo?"_

He took another step, his heel scraping against the floor in a stilted manner that was almost as incongruous as his sudden appearance. Grace was an inborn trait for him, as much a foundation of his identity as the katanas he used to wear, and was one of the few things the explosion didn't take away. Not even insanity could quell his fluidity of movement, that natural grace, which put even the most accomplished dancers to shame.

But now… Now he moved with the jerky, robotic motions of a marionette, as if each step was forced from him unwillingly and at great cost. In his twisted features was the expression of a man who had hang-glided over the gates of hell, and was now looking down into the pit of horrors below.

Something I'd said or done must have gotten through to him, something that had somehow forced him to disobey a direct order. I knew what he was trying to do, but considering the state he was in, I didn't see how he could help me.

I opened my mouth to say as much, but found that I couldn't force a single word passed my lips. I knew I should talk to him, say something, _anything_, but no words came to mind. There was no expression adequate enough for what I was feeling now.

_At least I got to see this before I died,_ I thought with odd gratitude, _at least I got to see him move once under his own power. Perhaps God has a sense of mercy after all._

Halting about a foot away from me, he fell without ceremony, abruptly collapsing to his knees as if the puppeteer had cut a few select strings. I winced at the sickening crack of cartilage against concrete, and wondered if he'd just succeeded in injuring himself.

He apparently didn't feel any pain, however, for he reached out with his scarred right hand and hesitantly ran his fingers across the surface of the blood pool. It coated his digits and palm, and left thick streaks across the untouched concrete. Blood eagerly sought out these three new channels and flowed into them, creating tendrils of red across the gray stone and expanding outward like the arms of a starfish.

With those same halting motions, Leo brought his bloody hand to his face. Brow ridges drawn together in an expression of puzzlement, he watched with strange intensity as it flowed slowly down his wrist, before becoming blocked and entangled by the deep scarring that ran the length of his forearm. He made a noise low in his throat, a sudden high-pitched animal whine of incomprehension.

The sound was so unexpected and so unlike anything Leo had ever done before, that I was quite unable to stop him when he suddenly licked his wrist, pink tongue darting out and lapping up the blood like a small child catching a line of melted ice cream.

My stomach churned at the sight and I stared wide-eyed at my brother, a feeling of surrealism washing over me in a dizzying wave. Blinking in disbelief, I slurred, "What th' hell are ya _doin'_?"

Without the slightest indication that he had heard, he slowly rolled his tongue around in his mouth, taking in the taste with that same curious expression of bafflement. His jaw worked as he swallowed and for a breathless moment he simply stared into space, his head cocked, before his eyes widened in sudden, terrible understanding.

He shuddered hard and rocked back on his heels, crossing his arms over his plastron. Hugging himself tightly, hunched in a shivering ball of misery, he whispered, "Blood. It's blood."

Those simple words were forced out slowly, grudgingly, his cracked and ruined voice trembling with the beginnings of tears. I couldn't begin to guess what was going on in his head right now, but the world of hurt in his tone was enough to give me strength to move. My arms trembled with the effort and black spots swam in front of my narrow vision, but I nevertheless slid my good arm under my chest and heaved upward. Breath coming in shallow gasps, I reached out towards Leo.

I don't know what I'd thought I could do, for I didn't have the slightest idea how to help him, but the point was rendered moot when the heel of my hand encountered a smear of blood and abruptly lost traction. I collapsed for the second time that evening, my chin smacking against concrete… and for a moment my world blanked out.

The sensation of movement was what brought me back to the edges of awareness. Familiar hands, scarred and still deceptively strong, were under my arms, lifting me up and shifting my body around. I felt, distantly, the slight impact as my shell hit brickwork. Unable to stop myself, I moaned in weakness and pain.

A figure moved about me, his footsteps measured and almost mechanical, and I listened absently as I tried to place my surroundings. I was now sprawled gracelessly against the wall, my right shoulder lightly brushing against the cool metal of the medicine cabinet.

Well, this was an improvement. At least now I wouldn't die flat on my face.

My head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds and I was no longer capable of lifting it, so I let it list uselessly forward, my chin nestled in the join between my skin and plastron. Exercising a great display of will, I opened my eyes, peering fuzzily out at the world through barely slitted lids. My vision was nearly useless now, but I was still able to make out the blurred silhouette of Leo, moving away from me and coming to a halt in front of Don's bed.

He stood there for a long moment, simply staring at the sheets as if waiting for some clue how to proceed. Then, in a swift move I couldn't follow, he yanked the top sheet away. The entire bed frame squealed forward slightly with the force of his tug and the mattress was nearly pulled from its foundation, but Leo didn't seem to notice as he bundled the sheet in his arms and turned away.

Collapsing in front of me with the same graceless motion he'd previously displayed, the white sheet billowed before settling over his legs like a shroud. He gripped one edge of the dusty cloth with both hands, and frowning in concentration, pulled hard in opposite directions. Months of sickness and prolonged inactivity had withered the once-prominent muscles in his arms, but the strength in them had not entirely disappeared, for the cloth tore with relative ease.

Sometime during my brief stint of unconsciousness Leo had apparently regained some measure of control. In his gaze was still the expression of one who had seen far too much, but at least now calmness and rationality were bubbling closer to the surface. If I didn't look too closely, it was almost as if Leo had finally crossed the line back into sanity.

Once half the sheet had disintegrated into strips, Leo reached out and gripped my injured arm, pulling it closer to himself. I sucked in a breath against the hurt and watched as, with clumsy fingers and rough motions, he began to bind my wound.

He pulled and tugged at my arm, binding the cloth strips too tight around my injury, but I didn't mind. There was no malice in his expression or movements; rather, it was as if it was taking everything he had to help me, and he just couldn't broaden his concentration enough to be gentle.

Even in the depths of his self-made hell, my brother was still willing to come to my aid when I needed it. That thought was enough to warm me and keep the pain away.

It seemed like much longer, but in reality it took only about two minutes to securely bandage my wound. Tying a final, awkward knot, Leo ran his hands speculatively over the dressing. Seemingly satisfied, he sighed once, a trembling sound that might have contained relief, and then bowed his head.

He looked back up at me and I saw his eyes flicker, clarity blanketed for a split second by a look of vacuity. His fingers tightened around my arm and he shivered, fighting against it, but I knew it would be a losing battle. Unconsciousness was fast approaching for us both, but when I woke up again, Leo would still be gone. Lost inside his own mind.

I could feel darkness pulling apart my psyche, but I struggled against it, willing myself to stay awake for just a few moments more. There was something I had to know first. Something important.

Curling my fingers around Leo's forearm in a feeble grip, I took a deep breath. My voice was terrible, so rough and garbled that I barely recognized it as my own, but I nevertheless forced myself to speak. "Who'm I, Leo? Say ya remember me. Please…"

Leo was shivering continuously now, his whole body shaking as his soul was inexorably pulled away, but he still had enough presence of mind left to hear me. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he swallowed hard, turning his gaze up to meet mine one last time.

He squeezed my arm with fingers nearly as weak as my own, and incredibly, he smiled. The expression was fleeting and slight, and it pulled at his facial scars in disconcerting ways… but it was still the most wonderful thing I'd ever seen.

"_Ototo_," he whispered.

My eyelids slid shut of their own accord, my fingers losing their grip on Leo's arm and falling away. Unconsciousness beckoned insistently, and this time I obeyed without hesitation, my heart light with an emotion I thought I'd never feel again.

Brother. He'd called me brother.


	12. April: A Dose of Crazy

**Fade**

_Part 12_

By Dierdre

Beta read by Sassyblondexoxo. Go read her fics!

* * *

_**AN:**__ Physics information provided by the brilliant and incomparable __**pacphys**__. Any mistake in this fic dealing with Everett's Many-Worlds theory is solely the fault of me, the authoress._

_Many apologies for the long delay, gentle readers. (Removes baseball cap and bows low) I will endeavor not to be so tardy again, okay? I hope you enjoy. :) _

_

* * *

_

With Casey's name on my lips and the lingering feel of his arms around me, I tore myself from the dream and bolted upright in bed.

Blinking in disorientation, I moaned and rubbed at my aching eyes. Simultaneously reassured and depressed by the familiar dark outlines of my bedroom furniture, I threw back the covers and stepped hastily out of bed… only to have my left leg fold like an accordion and send me crashing to the ground.

The pins holding together my shattered hip and femur ground my flesh from the inside, and the ensuing pain was so blinding that for a long moment I couldn't even breathe. My mouth yawning open in silent distress, I curled up into a fetal position and clutched at my ruined leg, clawing weakly at the fabric of my pajama bottoms as if to reach through them and tear away the hurt. God, please! Please make it stop…

God's response seemed to be on a time delay, for it was several long minutes before I was able to uncurl from my cramped huddle on the carpet. When I finally felt as if I could move without blacking out, I levered up my torso with my good arm and swiped my left hand over my eyes, leaving a streak of salty moisture across the protective glove.

Shaking my head in an attempt to banish the flecks of white that swam in front of my vision, I glared at the dark silhouette of my leg brace, propped unassumingly against the nightstand. I loathed it with a passion I didn't know I could feel for an inanimate object, but not nearly as much as I hated the dream that sometimes made me forget its necessity.

It always began the same way: inside the battle-damaged office building, just as Donny's sudden, panic-stricken warning of disaster cut like a razor through the tumult. Just like before, I was so wrapped up in deciphering Shredder's coding that I barely acknowledged his cry, and it took Casey scooping me unceremoniously into his arms for me to become aware of the danger. He moved towards the main doors, dodging fleeing Foot soldiers and running with such swift urgency that all I could do was wrap my arms around his neck and hang on for dear life.

Just like before, we were only a few feet from the exit and its promise of freedom before we heard Shredder's final cry of rage and a distant, tinny beep. But instead of being engulfed in a sudden hell of pain and fear and fire and death, we somehow found ourselves transported to the lair. Suddenly we were sitting on the couch, relaxed and full from an earlier meal eaten with Master Splinter and the boys, watching _Rio Gato_ for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. No one seemed to care that we could all practically recite the movie by heart, however, for the Shredder was dead and we were all just grateful to be alive. Untouched and alive.

I pulled down the brace and levered my weak, throbbing leg into the cradle of its metal bars. I began to cinch up the nylon straps, belting it securely over the thin fabric to prevent slippage, my eyes narrowed in an effort to keep the tears at bay.

Damn dreams. It wasn't fair! God, it just wasn't fair…

Everett's Many-Worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics operated on the theory that an observer contemplating the measurements, or wavefunctions, of a particle actually interacts with it using a unique wavefunction of his own. The observer makes 'copies' of himself by this very act of study, with each copy existing in a different world. And so, in essence, for every interaction between wave functions there are infinitely many observers in different worlds, each of whom sees the particle in a slightly different state while remaining unaware of the others.

This theory was the basis for the concept of a 'multiverse', where an infinite number of universes curl around each other like the rings of a nautilus shell, each unique and observable, but never touching. In one of those myriad universes, the theory hints, my dream was reality and we had all walked away from the inferno unharmed.

In that universe there existed another April, her body still unscarred and strong, who leaned contentedly in the arms of Casey and laughed with him as Don and Mikey tussled good-naturedly for the popcorn bowl. In that universe Master Splinter still sipped tea while curled in the seat of his favorite armchair, with Leo, intact in both body and mind, kneeling at his side. In that universe Raphael still remembered what it was like to laugh, and to walk through the day unafraid of his own mind.

Somewhere out there, in that singular universe, our family was still whole. Untouched and alive.

This knowledge had made me wish for the first time that I hadn't been so diligent in my studies. Ignorance in this case would not be bliss, nor would it be a comfort, but at least then I wouldn't be able to contemplate that other April… or to hate her, just a little, for her fortuity.

Standing up was a whole new adventure in pain, but I nevertheless banished my disturbing thoughts and pushed and clawed my way into an upright position, using the bed frame to brace myself. My leg protested the movement with an unpleasant tingle of abused nerve endings, and I wobbled in reaction, swayed dangerously, and nearly overbalanced. Months of practice had made me adept at maintaining equilibrium, however, and so I recovered swiftly, fumbling at the nightstand until my fingers encountered the switch on my desk lamp. I flicked it on and squinted into the sudden brightness, blinking rapidly until my eyes adjusted.

Limping over to the closet, I pulled back the folding doors and peered inside. My heart contracted at the sight of attire left over from my old life; hanger after hanger of slinky sundresses, brightly-colored halter tops and high-cut jean shorts. Things I'd never be able to wear again as long as I lived.

My lips thinned. Enough of this. Keeping mementos of happier times was one thing, but this was bordering on the masochistic. First thing tomorrow, the Salvation Army was going to find a trash bag full of expensive clothes on their doorstep.

Feeling lethargic and far too achy to bother removing my night clothes, I slipped an oversized gray sweater over my pajama top and struggled into a faded pair of sweatpants. I halfheartedly combed my fingers through my short mass of hair and yawned expansively, before passing through the doorway and down the hall, bound for the kitchen. A cup of coffee, black as pitch and strong enough to eat away my teeth enamel, sounded like heaven right now.

A few minutes later, the rich smell of coffee was busily permeating every corner of my apartment, bringing with it fond memories of my father and the simpler days of childhood. It succeeded in lifting my spirits a little, enough so that I actually dared to cinch up the blinds and allow late afternoon daylight into my home. I poured myself a cup of the steaming brew and spent a few minutes simply staring out the window, leaning against the window frame with most of my weight centered on my good leg.

It was sometimes strangely soothing to watch the people bustling about below me, their heads down and their strides quick and measured. Everyone seemed to know just where they needed to go, giving them the illusion that their days were planned out and executed with precision. No surprises for them, it seemed; no sudden spikes of fear, worry or heartache.

Lucky stiffs.

Snorting at my own melodramatic thoughts, I drained the last of the coffee in one long swallow and set the empty mug on the windowsill. Turning away decisively, intent on getting some computer work done so I could at least _pretend_ at usefulness, I snagged my pack off its wicker chair perch and lowered myself down to take its place.

Balancing the backpack on my lap, I unzipped the top and parted the stiff fabric. I fished out my laptop and prepared to set down the pack… only to pause when my subconscious spotted something amiss. Curious, I peered down into its dark interior and shifted a few items around, my eyebrows drawing together into a scowl as I suddenly understood. My kunai was missing.

Suppressing the urge to curse was more trouble than it was worth, so I sighed gustily and spat out an explicative that would have made Raphael proud.

The kunai had been a gift from Leo during my third post-hospital visit to the lair, taken from his personal weapons collection and pressed into my hands as I prepared to say goodbye. He had solemnly curled my fingers around the handle, wrapped in the same blue cord that decorated the pommels of his katanas, and had drawn me into a careful hug with a simple, hoarse plea to 'be safe'. I had been mystified by his actions at the time, but in retrospect maybe he had sensed something that I hadn't, for he had slipped into catatonia less than two days later.

His final gift to me, one of the most precious things I owned, and I'd thrown it on the lair's kitchen table and forgotten about it. Christ, I was so stupid.

I was on my feet and limping across the white tile floor before common sense slowed my steps, making me hesitate at the kitchen counter with my hand hovering just millimeters from the phone. As much as I wanted to make certain that the weapon was there, and that I hadn't in fact left it on the bus in a daze of emotional distraction, Raph probably wouldn't appreciate me calling right now. Our last conversation had been less than pleasant, and the memory of it was still fresh enough to churn my stomach with an acid ache. Maybe it would be better to wait a few days, just to give him a chance to calm down.

Shaking my head at such apprehension, I quickly dialed the number and pressed the receiver to my ear. I had dealt with worse things before than an angry Raphael, and perhaps hearing his voice would give me a clue just how deep his resentment ran. If nothing else, it would give me an opportunity to apologize again for keeping Leo's bout of lucidity a secret. At the time I thought I was just protecting him from more possible heartache, but the expression on his face before we parted ways had given me cause to rethink. He had seemed so… defeated.

As I listened to the phone's familiar, monotonous ring, I sighed and rubbed at the bridge of my nose. _Come on, Raph,_ I pled silently, _pick up the phone and let me know everything's all right. Tell me you're not mad. Tell me we're still family._

My entreaties went unheard and by the twenty-third ring I set the phone down in its cradle, my chest tight with the beginnings of worry. Raph rarely slept more than an hour or two a night, so it was consequently unlikely that he didn't hear the phone ring. Either he was still so steamed that he couldn't bring himself to talk to me, or…

I frowned hard and shook my head. No. Despite his impatience and recklessness, Raph had much more sense than to start hunting for Karai before nightfall. And, even though Raph might not like it, he had promised me he would wait. He always kept his word once it was given. _Always._

…And yet a sense of wrongness was blossoming in the back of my mind; a burgeoning pressure, like the beginnings of a headache. It was nothing more than the prodding of unreliable instinct, but I was nevertheless suddenly sure something wasn't right. I could _feel_ it.

Trying to rationalize this away would do no good, so I snatched up my bag and inserted my laptop, zipping it shut before slinging it over my good shoulder. Turning off the coffeemaker, I shoved my keys into my pants pocket and laboriously slid into a pair of tennis shoes.

Some five minutes later, I was boarding a bus, clinging tight to the railing and dragging my bad leg up each step. I flashed a quick smile at the bus driver, who treated me with a blank look before reaching out and levering the door shut in my wake. My face fell and looked around the crowded vehicle for the nearest available seat, all pretenses of good humor abandoned.

An elderly woman, her body deeply stooped and face creased with wrinkles, scooted over a little and patted the seat beside her, an obvious invitation that I quickly accepted. Sitting down heavily with a murmured 'thanks', I clutched my bag in my lap and stared at the graffiti splashed across the ceiling, trying to ignore the blatant stare from the heavily tattooed teenager across the aisle. A moment later the bus groaned and began to move into traffic with the grating, unpleasant squeal of old brakes.

My bad leg proved to be an obstruction, for as the bus shuddered around a corner one of the standing passengers staggered and accidentally slammed into my brace. A fiery shiver of pain lanced up my abused limb and I hissed in reaction. The thin bars on either side of my ankle squealed against the metal floor as I tried to draw it closer to my body, the sound cutting through the surrounding chatter and earning me several curious stares. I bowed my head in embarrassment and plucked at the leg my sweatpants, noting with a chill of dismay that the skeleton of my brace could be clearly seen under the grey weave.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes and I blinked rapidly to clear them away. I would never get used to this. I would never get used to feeling like a freak.

I was wallowing hip deep in a pool of self-pity, my body swaying numbly with the motions of the bus, when the woman beside me suddenly reached out and patted my hand. I jumped a little and turned just as her lined, dark face split into a smile, an expression full of yellowed teeth and unexpected warmth. "Breathe easy, child. They don't mean nothing by it."

Eyes wide in surprise, all I could do was nod slowly and say, "I know." Taking in a deep breath, my free hand reached up of its own accord and I bit lightly at the encasing black glove. "I know."

The woman patted my hand one last time before withdrawing, and I noticed for the first time the simple wooden cane nestling against the side of her leg, nearly hidden from view by her multicolored, voluminous skirts. She curled her bony fingers around the handle in a motion so practiced and familiar it almost looked elegant, and leaned her twisted back against the seat.

The exchange had been so brief it hardly qualified as conversation, but I still found myself drawn to her. Dropping my hand back into my lap, I once again wound my hands through the strap of my bag and gave her a surreptitious look out of the corner of my eye. If she was aware of my gaze she didn't acknowledge it, but merely tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Her age-thinned lips curved into a slight smile, as if listening to music only she could hear.

It occurred to me that she might be crazy, but after a moment of scrutiny I decided I might not mind having a dose of her particular brand of lunacy. It had been a long time since I had seen someone look so at peace, and longer still since I could remember feeling such a thing within my own heart.

My musings drew to a sudden close when she reached up and pulled the bell cord, announcing her desire to exit the vehicle. As the bus slowed down obediently, easing itself behind a van full of Japanese tourists and continuing on towards the shoulder, the woman turned and fixed me with a gaze that told me she'd been aware of my examination all along.

I winced guiltily and opened my mouth to apologize, only to have the words die in my throat when she reached out and cupped my jaw in a gesture so gentle that I couldn't bring myself to protest.

"Keep your chin up, child, and be patient," she said softly. "Things cannot exist forever as they are. Life is about change, both the good and the bad." She smiled again, that simple, kind smile, and for a wild moment she reminded me of Master Splinter. "And it looks like you're overdue for some good."

With that she released my chin and stood, leaning heavily on her cane as the bus squealed and jerked to a stop. The doors slid open and she turned away without another word, starting to weave her way through the standing passengers. Her back, twisted and hunched with osteoporosis, looked all the more obvious now that she was standing, but her stride was sure and she moved with such quiet dignity that people stepped obediently aside and didn't even attempt to stare.

The doors hissed closed and the bus began moving again with the familiar cacophony of old brakes and overtaxed metal. I barely noticed the noise, however, or felt the pressure of eyes upon me, for my focus was now turned inward. Ever so slowly, I reached up and touched my chin.

Yeah, she was definitely crazy, but that knowledge wasn't enough to keep the slight smile off my face. Perhaps there was still some hope for us after all.

I coasted through the rest of the ride in a dreamlike state, forcing myself back to reality only when I finally exited the bus a few blocks from the lair. Adjusting the strap of the heavy pack more comfortably across my shoulder, I ran my fingers through my hair as the bus roared away in an eye-stinging cloud of exhaust. After casting a quick glance around to make sure I was alone, I stepped out of the bus stop overhang and began making my slow way towards the warehouse.

Just as I had been taught, I was careful to keep my eyes and ears open for any suspicious movement or sounds. The clank and scrape of my leg brace made the last difficult, but I did my best to tune it out. No matter what Raph might think, I was acutely aware of how vulnerable I was now, and so I was always careful when I made these treks.

The sun was dipping below the skyline as I walked, turning the many shining glass buildings into menacing silhouettes of gold-rimmed black. I hunched my shoulders against the deepening chill as the area was blanketed in their resulting shadows, throwing the entire grid into premature twilight. This neighborhood wasn't so bad during the day, but when nighttime was in full swing this place became a truly dangerous place to prowl. And so, though I had yet to sense any trouble, I gripped my bag tighter and struggled to quicken my pace.

My leg was aching and my breathing was labored by the time I finally made it to the warehouse. Coming to a halt at the doorway, I breathed a sigh of relief and stopped a moment, taking the opportunity to catch my breath while I scanned one last time for danger. The neighborhood seemed quiet, hushed, with only the distant fluttering of a passing flock of pigeons to add texture to the silence.

Feeling relatively secure, I reached for the door handle… only to be brought up short by a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision. I twisted around, putting my back to the door even as I slid the bag off my shoulder, ready to use its heavy weight as a weapon. I raked the alley shadows, fire escapes and rooftops with my gaze, opening my senses to their fullest in an effort to catch any slight abnormality.

After a long, breathless moment where I detected nothing strange, I allowed myself to relax a little. It was probably just an alley cat, or a piece of trash caught up by the wind.

Yes, that must be it.

Still unaccountably uneasy, I reached behind my back and fumbled at the metal door, flecks of old paint flaking away under the onslaught of my knuckles and falling to the dirt like heavy snow. Once my fingers finally hooked around the knob, I twisted and pushed even as I staggered backwards. I slammed the door shut with a huff of effort, finding comfort in the familiar gloom of the warehouse, and pressed the button on the knob to lock it. And then, for a reason that I couldn't fully explain, I reached up and twisted the deadbolt, applying firm pressure until the rust freezing up the locking mechanism gave way and allowed the bolt to slide into place. Safe.

I was in the elevator a few moments later; wincing at the grating sounds accompanying my descent and scoffing at my own foolishness. That was the first time I'd locked the warehouse door since the explosion, and the first time I'd _ever_ used the deadbolt. Raph's frequent lectures must be rubbing off on me, because I was starting to get paranoid.

Stepping into the lair as the doors ground shut behind me, I looked around. The living room was still enshrouded in the perpetual gloom that Raph seemed to prefer, but there was a new quality to the quiet that was even now wrapping itself around me like a familiar cloak. Something almost… ominous.

"Raph?" I called out hesitantly.

My lips tightened into a frown as the name echoed off the concrete walls and returned to me unanswered. Telling myself firmly that nothing was wrong, and that Raph was either sleeping or simply ignoring me, I limped into the kitchen and set my bag down on the scarred tabletop.

The kunai was exactly where I'd left it, and so I scooped the weapon up and ran a thumb over the corded handle. Something inside me loosened at the feel of the blade in my hands, and I smiled a little before once again growing serious. That niggling worry in the back of my mind, banished sometime during the bus ride over, had returned with renewed strength. Perhaps it was only paranoia ruffling its feathers again, but this time I was unable to quell that strange sense of apprehension. Something was _wrong._

Compelled by amorphous instinct, I gripped the kunai loosely in my right hand and clanked my way back into the living room. There was a smell in the air that I couldn't quite place, but it seemed to be the source of my disquiet, for I could feel my heartbeat quickening with every breath I took.

I inhaled experimentally through my nostrils, breathing deep and slow as I struggled to place the faint aroma. It was reminiscent of metal, copper or iron perhaps, and the scent collected on the back of my tongue, bringing with it a taste that was terribly familiar.

All the air whooshed from my lungs as I exhaled in a burst of sudden shock. The blade tip began to shake as I gripped my weapon in white-knuckled fingers, my heart pounding in sympathy with the terror rising in my soul.

Blood. I smelt blood.


	13. April: Needles

**Fade**

_Part 13_

By Dierdre

Beta read by Sassyblondexoxo. Go read her fics!

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_**AN:**__ Holy Hanna, 'Fade' has exactly two hundred reviews! (Whoops like a drunken cheerleader at a football game) I can't thank y'all enough for all your constant support, praise and helpful advice, for not only have y'all boosted my ego clear to the ceiling, y'all have also helped me grow and improve as a writer. Domo arigato, minasan. (Lays flowers at her reviewers' feet)_

_And now, without further ado, here's the next chapter. I hope y'all enjoy. :) _

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There was blood spoor in the air. I drew it in with every breath and tasted it on the back of my tongue, eerily reminiscent of the metallic tang that was even now flooding my mouth in a surge of bitter saliva. My throat felt hot and swollen with the urge to scream, as if I could change destiny and deny the obvious with a protracted burst of furious vocalization. It was an instinctual desire, as old as mankind, yet I tamped it down forcefully, for it would do me and those I loved no good at all.

They must have been attacked. Either Raph had gone to the surface and gotten himself hurt, or --and the thought chilled me to the core-- the Foot had found the lair. Why else would there be the stench of blood, why else the silence?

So terribly, desperately silent…

That last thought was nearly enough to send me over the edge into panic, and it was only the memory of Splinter's teachings that prevented me from tearing through the lair like a localized hurricane, hunting desperately for two of the few people left alive that still meant a damn to me. Instead I took a calming breath and raised the kunai to shoulder level, held lightly in my grip and ready to throw as I willed my body to stop shaking. I listened intently for the slightest misplaced sound, instinctively dropping my mouth open to better detect low frequency sounds through the vibrations of my Eustachian tubes. A strange but useful trick Master Splinter had once taught me, God rest his soul.

After nearly a full minute, where I heard nothing more ominous than water rushing through distant pipes and the industrious scratching of a hidden sewer rat, I finally relaxed a little. If there had been someone here before, then they must have already left. And even if someone _was_ still lurking in the shadows, waiting patiently for the proper moment to strike, it no longer mattered. I simply couldn't delay any longer.

There was no sense in trying to conceal my presence, for with the clatter of my leg brace I might as well have been accompanied by a marching band, so I strode forward with a confidence I didn't really feel. Scanning the dimness around me, searching for any signs of trouble, it wasn't long before I found myself only a few paces from the hallway with that strange pressure flaring in the back of my skull, urging me onward.

Trusting in my instincts, I quickened my pace and plunged into the hallway's dark confines, nearly gagging from the now overwhelming stench of blood. My eyes gratefully latched onto the first scrap of light they saw; a bright line of luminescence that filtered through an open slit in the dojo door. Lips thinned in determination, I tightened my grip on my weapon and yanked open the door.

A dark and hidden part of my mind had half expected to find a body, but the scene laid out before my eyes was somehow worse. Raphael's sais were lying forgotten in the center of tatami mat, their shine dulled to nothing by the pool of congealed blood they rested in, with a trail of footprints, staggered and rimmed in red, leading out into the hallway.

My heart in my throat and my head spinning with thoughts too terrible to contemplate, I looked down. I… I was _standing_ in blood. His blood, my _brother's_ blood.

With a strangled cry, I spun around and staggered out the door, fumbling desperately for the light switch. The part of my psyche still capable of rational thought counseled against this action, for it knew beyond any doubt that I would hate what I saw, but fumble I did, overcome by a wild need to _see_.

My fingers finally hooked the switch and I pulled quickly downwards, and then up again, repeatedly flicking the little nub of plastic in a vain effort to shed some light on my nightmare. The bulb must have burnt out, however, for I was left in gloom, with only the light from the dojo's floor lamp spilling out into the hallway to reveal the beginnings of a rusty trail of footprints. And there on the far wall, lit up at the edges of the light… a smeared print that could have only come from a blood-soaked, tri-fingered hand.

The last vestiges of my calm shriveled away like rice paper in a gas flame, and the kunai slipped from my grip to clatter unheeded to the ground.

"Raph! Leo! Oh god… _Raphael!_"

I flung myself into darkness even as the echoes of my cry reverberated off the corridor walls to die amongst the latticework of pipes above. Limping as quickly as I could, all but running in my haste, I used the wall for support as I propelled myself forward like an unsteady arrow, bound for the end of the hall and Don's room, where another thin shaft of light beckoned. Unseen droplets of blood burst under the onslaught of my sneakers and splashed up to stain my ankles, the cold wetness turning the already foul corridor into a choking blanket of copper scent. I barely noticed this, however, or felt the discomfort when one of my nails caught on the rough brickwork and ripped away. I was too busy panicking; too busy praying to God to have mercy on us, the children he seemed to love to destroy.

And then light pierced my eyes from the partially open door, blinding me momentarily and causing me to fumble in my desperate grasp for the doorframe. My hand clutching at nothing, my descent was further aided by a silver dollar-sized patch of blood, which negated the traction on the soles of my feet and sent me careening forward. My shoulder hit the door, flinging the wooden plank against the wall with a hollow thud a millisecond before I hit the ground.

The breath whooshed from my lungs in a pained exhale as a miniature volcano welled up in my hip and spilled liquid fire along my nerve endings. Tears welled up unbidden in my eyes, but despite the overwhelming desire to curl up into a little ball of distress, I blinked them away and peered into the wan fluorescent light. What I saw compelled me to push my way into the room with my good leg and begin clawing forward on my belly, dragging my braced and useless appendage behind me.

Leo, streaked with red but seemingly otherwise unharmed, was sitting with his legs curled in the familiar Lotus position, his eyes gazing into the middle distance. Raph was slumped oddly on the floor beside him, as if he had been leaning against the wall only to slide sideways to the ground. A crude bandage, black with dried blood, was wrapped around his right arm, standing out in stark contrast to the pallor of his skin. Limp and seemingly lifeless, I couldn't even tell if he was breathing.

Rust red ground its way into the loose weave of my sweater and coated my hands as I dragged myself over the spatters of blood, but the damage to my clothing didn't matter in the slightest. If what I feared were true, then I wouldn't have to worry about the state my wardrobe anymore, because that would be the end of us. Raphael's death would not only scatter the final pieces of our hope beyond the possibility of recovery; it would shatter the board. I might as well put a bullet through Leo's skull right now, and then bite the barrel myself.

All but climbing over Leo's lap in my clumsy, pain-fogged haste, I pushed aside a drawer from the broken medicine cabinet and pulled myself into a semi-upright position at Raph's side. Leaning my shoulder against the wall, I reached out with weak fingers and pressed them against the side of his neck. I felt for a pulse through the layers of corded muscle, not daring to breathe, and then let out a little sob of relief when I found one. It was weak and slow, but it was there. Thank God, thank God.

Now that I knew he was still alive, some of my panic faded away, leaving me cold and trembling with shock. I looked up and stared wide-eyed at the chaos that surrounded me, Don's once serene room transformed into an Abaddon of spattered blood, shredded bedding and scattered medical supplies. What in the world had happened here?

The only person capable of answering my question was beyond my hearing, lying pale and mottled with a gruesome patchwork of his own blood, so I pushed those worries to the back of my mind. I took a calming breath and ran a hand over the bandage, where the blood had stiffened to the consistency of dried glue.

Yes, 'why' and 'how' would have to wait.

It would have been better to get him up off the floor and into a warm bed, but with him unconscious and unable to help I had to compromise. By pulling with every ounce of strength in my weakened arms and bracing against the wall with my right leg, I was able to straighten him out of his uncomfortable huddle, shifting his body so he lay flat on his shell with his injured arm draped across his plastron. I then crawled over to the bed with all the ease and grace of a wounded seal, dragging down one of the pillows and slipping it carefully under Raph's head.

After checking his pulse one last time and finding it unchanged, I gathered up enough courage to turn away from him again and grip one of the metal bedposts. It took three tries to lift myself to my feet, and when I finally succeeded my weak leg throbbed with such intensity that I felt the pulse of it all the way to my temples. Ignoring my body's protests with the resolute determination of one who had grown accustomed to pain, I clenched my teeth and strode heavily out the door.

The next hour was spent in a haze of hard labor and low-grade anxiety, as I bustled about the kitchen in preparation for amateur surgery. Two large metal pots were found nestled in the back of one of the cabinets, and I filled them with water from the cluttered sink, setting them on the stovetop to boil. A reluctant trip back into Don's room for a search through the strewn medical supplies revealed an utter lack of proper bandages, although I did find the scissors, needles and packets of surgical thread.

Gathering up those items and the torn blanket unaccountably draped across Leo's lap, I took everything back into the kitchen and spread it across the table. I boiled an instrument tray in the smallest pot first, before doing the same with the needles and scissors. Setting the items aside to dry atop a layer of clean paper towels, I used a steak knife to cut the remaining length of blanket into strips, and then tossed those into the pot as well.

As I waited for the cloth to boil itself clean, it took a concentrated effort to keep my hands from shaking, for I knew the dangers of what I was about to do. The sewers of New York were arguably the last place on earth that should be used as an operating room, and with primitively sterilized instruments and a proletarian at the needle it was a bout of sepsis waiting to happen. He should be going to the emergency room, getting patched up by an expert with an autoclave and a whole bucketful of antibiotics.

But no. All he had was me, a cripple who had never stitched up a wound without the comforting presence of Don nearby, ready to step in should she make a mistake. Christ, I would gladly give up a year of my life to have him here with me now.

I wasn't sure how long the strips needed to boil, so I went with my gut instinct and removed them from the burner after ten minutes, draining the pot and wringing out the makeshift bandages with my freshly scrubbed hands. I'd had to remove the glove that protected my scarred hand for this and the hot water burned like a firebrand against the delicate skin, but I did my best to ignore the hurt. This was more important.

Lacking any better mechanism, I hung the damp strips from a hook above the stove, hoping that the heat from the still active burner would quickly dry out the makeshift bandages. After carefully shifting the second bubbling pot to a cool burner, I spent the next little while pacing around the table with all the nervous energy of a caged tiger, praying that I was doing everything right and keeping a close eye on the steaming strips of cloth. A kitchen fire was the last thing I needed right now.

Once the strips stopped steaming and upon tactile inspection seemed relatively dry, I turned off the burners with a relieved sigh. So far, so good.

It took two trips to carry everything through the darkened hallway, and even after my previous exposure its charnel house stench almost enough to make me gag and drop the water pot. I somehow managed to avoid both disastrous outcomes, however, and made it into Don's room without incident. A couple of thick towels from the bathroom had been spread across the floor at Raph's side, acting as a buffer against the filthy floor, and I set the pot of sterilized water beside the instrument tray before lowering myself to the ground with an involuntary moan.

I couldn't simply remove the dressing to get to the wound beneath, for tearing away the strips of cloth would only make things worse. And so, with Leo at my back as an unseeing witness, I draped another towel over my legs and pulled Raph's limp arm into my lap. Ladling out some water with a clean measuring cup, I poured a small amount over the bandage, suppressing a shudder of distaste as pink-tinged liquid dribbled over the sides and quickly soaked through the towel. I told myself it didn't matter; my clothes were a lost cause anyway.

The cloth sucked up the liquid almost greedily and after a few complicated moments I was able to pull the loosened knots apart. With plenty of water and lots of patience, the bandages were unwound one at a time and tossed away to lay in a sodden pile of cloth beside the medicine cabinet. Using a clean, damp strip to dab at the wound, I gently loosened the mass of clotted blood to expose the true shape of the injury. What I saw puzzled me at first, but then understanding hit like a sucker punch to the jaw.

My heart thundered in my ears as I stared down at Raph's still form, disbelievingly, as if I'd never seen him before. "No," I whispered. "No, he couldn't have…"

I'd never been claustrophobic before in my life, but suddenly I was very aware of the many tons of rock hanging over my head, pressing down on me and constricting the walls in a fashion that exuded menace. The oxygen seemed to be draining from air around us, and I found myself beginning to gasp like a land-trapped fish.

Realizing in a disconnected way that I was dangerously close to a panic attack, I placed Raph's arm gingerly back atop his plastron and used the bedpost to lever myself to my feet. Swaying dangerously, my eyes wild, I maintained enough presence of mind to snag the bottle of iodine from the second drawer of the metal cupboard, before stumbling out the door.

Inside the dubious sanctuary of the bathroom, I placed the bottle beside the faucet and gripped the cracked porcelain of the sink with white-knuckled fingers. I bowed my head and spent a few moments trying to regain mental equilibrium, my breath rattling like dice in my chest. It couldn't be what I thought, it just couldn't. He was too stubborn to take the easy way out, and despite everything I knew he still loved us. He wouldn't hurt us like this. He wouldn't try to kill himself.

But the holes in his skin were a perfect match for the prongs of his sai, the same weapons he had never so much as scratched himself with in all the years I'd known him. Ragged puncture wounds, as if he'd buried the weapon into his arm and ripped it out in a fit of rage.

It hurt to even think of it, but I couldn't deny the evidence before my eyes. Perhaps I didn't know him as well as I thought I did.

I rolled back the blood-streaked sleeves of my sweater and with shaking hands turned the water on hot. Grabbing the antibiotic soap from its dish, I proceeded to scrub hard from my elbows to the tips of my fingers. Over and over again, scouring myself clean and rubbing my skin raw, as my eyebrows drew together into a pensive frown. He might have decided his life was worth nothing, but it was still precious to me. I was going to save him, whether he liked it or not.

I wished wholeheartedly for a pair of surgical gloves, but lacking any such convenience I had to make due with the iodine. The burnt umber liquid reeked to high heaven, but I nevertheless made sure to coat every inch of my skin up to the forearms. It wasn't perfect, but I was as sterilized as I was going to be.

A moment later I was once again sitting at his side, his arm in my lap as I used the already stained ribbon of cloth and a few more cups of water to cleanse the last of the blood from around his wound. Tossing it to rest among its kindred beside the medicine cabinet, I then doused the punctures and the surrounding flesh in iodine.

Threading a needle with one weak and aching hand was no easy task, but after a few tries I succeeded, my fleeting sense of triumph quickly dissolving under the onslaught of guilt, anger and sorrow that was battling for supremacy in my gut. I willed my hands to remain steady and took a final calming breath, before bending over his arm and getting to work.

Even after a couple of years of practice I still hated suturing a wound. The slight resistance of the skin before it popped under the pressure of my needle had always sickened me, as had the faint squeaking sound of the silk tread as it was pulled through flesh. I had long ago learned to quell my instinctual desire to vomit, but it didn't stop the experience from being an unpleasant one.

In an effort to distract myself from my grisly work, I found my thoughts drifting back to the first time I'd ever had to put my amateur first aid skills to the test. It had been immediately after one of their first fights with the Shredder, when Splinter had called me and requested my assistance, his polite tone spiced with urgency.

I had raced to the lair with my heart in my mouth, only to find Raph unconscious and Leo bleeding profusely from twin slash marks across both arms. Master Splinter and Don, both ignoring their comparatively minor hurts, had been working together with almost eerie synchronicity as they stitched up the eldest sibling. Don had torn himself away long enough to press an instrument tray into my hands and point wordlessly towards Mikey, who was leaning against the wall with a red-stained rag pressed to his shoulder.

Patching him up had been a nightmare, one that I could still remember with crystal clarity. My hands had shook throughout the whole ordeal, my stitching was timid and I'd had to leave halfway through to throw up in the bathroom sink, but somehow I had done it. I had been absurdly proud of my accomplishment, a feeling which remained with me until the stitches were removed a few weeks later. Apparently the sutures had been tied off too tight and over time the thread had cut into his skin, leaving a faint parallel pattern of scarring over the healed slash, like a crooked railroad track.

I had apologized profusely, horrified that I had mutilated him in my ignorance, but Mikey had just laughed and hugged me reassuringly. He said he kind of liked the effect; it made him look tough, like a real 'manly turtle'. He had then strutted around the lair, flashing his new scar and acting so outrageously that I had no choice but to laugh, and to love him all the more for his kindness.

I grudgingly pulled myself back to the present as I tied the last suture and cut the black thread, setting the bloodied scissors and needle back into the instrument tray with a sigh of relief. I rinsed my hands in the half empty water pot and poured more iodine over the stitches, before starting on the much more agreeable task of bandaging his arm.

My weak hand was sending out sharp twinges of distress by the time I tied the last knot, but I gently set his freshly bound appendage back on his plastron before allowing my hands to fall to my lap. I gave the bandage a critical glare as I tried to massage some life back into my cramping fingers. The bleeding had been minimal as I had stitched him up, the sutures precise and evenly spaced, and staring now at the neatly crisscrossed strips of cloth I abruptly decided that I had done a damn good job. No amateur track marks for him, it seemed, and as long as he favored that arm for a while he should regain full use of it.

Provided, of course, that he wanted to stick around that long.

That last incautious thought brought with it a wave of negative emotion, causing me to frown hard as I gathered up the pot and surgical tools. Levering myself to my feet and making my halting way back into the kitchen, I set the items on a clear space on one of the counters.

For a long moment I simply stared at the overflowing and cluttered sink, my head swimming with the knowledge that there was still so much left to do. Few things rusted metal faster than blood, and I knew I needed to clean the scissors, needles and instrument tray before I did anything else. I also needed to mop up the blood that stained the hallway, gather up the scattered medical supplies, clean Raph and Leo up, and then take a hot shower myself.

All these things and more had to be done, and any responsible person would perform such chores without hesitation, but as I stood there swaying from exhaustion I realized I simply did not have the will. My mind and soul ached as if they had been scoured with coarse sand, and never in my life had I wanted sleep so much as now. My body begged for it.

_The cleanup can wait until tomorrow,_ I thought leadenly. _Everything can wait until tomorrow._

I raided the storage room adjacent to the dojo, operating on autopilot and barely aware of what I was doing, and managed to find three tatty and heavily darned blankets. They were musty and moth-eaten, but also dry and warm, which was all that mattered to me now.

Bundling them up in my arms, I plodded back into Don's room and deposited them on the bed. I shook out the thickest one and draped it over Raph, bending over laboriously to tuck the trailing edges beneath his legs as a defense against the cold concrete. Unable to help myself, I spent a moment stroking the side of his face, seeking comfort in an action that he would never allow under ordinary circumstances.

I loved him so much it made my heart ache, yet a spreading miasma of guilt now tainted the feeling; a sneaking and irrational suspicion that this was all my fault. His wound had been bandaged when I found him, an act of self-preservation that hinted at second thoughts, but it still didn't change the fact that he had tried to kill himself. Somehow I had missed the signs, too wrapped up in my own self-pity to see just how far he'd fallen.

God, what kind of person was I?

My back was protesting its odd position so fiercely that I was forced to straighten and reluctantly turn away. Fixing my attention on the only remaining brother, I sighed deeply and spoke, "Stand up, Leo."

He obeyed with surprising alacrity, rising to his feet with a fluidity that seemed at odds with the faint popping of his joints, proof that he had been sitting in that same position for a very long time indeed. A weak flicker of curiosity flamed as I noticed a line of blood at the corner of his lip, but it was quickly smothered by the detachment that had settled over my psyche like a protective mantle. Any one of a thousand such mysteries would have to remain unsolved, because right now I couldn't bring myself to care.

I called Leo over and ordered him to stretch out on the bed, before throwing a blanket over his body and tucking it securely under his chin. Sliding the last remaining pillow under his neck, I then limped around and all but collapsed on the other side of the bed, where the feeling of finally getting off my feet brought with it a wave of relief so intense it bordered on dizziness. I had to sit there for nearly a full minute, eyes closed and hands limp at my sides, before I felt clearheaded and steady enough to pull the stained gray sweater over my head. I let it drop to the floor with a sneer of distaste, and then wriggled like a shedding snake to peel off my still damp sweat pants. I slipped off my shoes and tackled the leg brace next, fumbling at the buckles in my impatience to rid myself of the infernal contraption.

My brace clattered to the floor, leaving me clad only in my pajamas and a fine patina of filth, reeking of blood, sweat and iodine, but not caring. I lay on my back and wrestled the last blanket over my body, staring mutely at the ceiling as I waited for the warmth to seep into my bones. I normally didn't like to sleep with a light on, but tonight I needed its protection to keep my demons at bay. Just as I needed the warmth of another living soul beside me, as a tangible reminder that the world had not ended and that I was not alone.

I turned over on my side and pillowed my head with my good arm, feeling the tug of habit as I reached under the blankets and gripped Leo's hand. As I had done numerous times before, I lightly massaged the pad of flesh between his thumb and forefinger, a repetitive gesture designed to soothe. "Close your eyes and relax, Leo," I murmured. "Sleep now and dream of something better than this."

His lids fluttered once before sliding obediently shut. I soon followed suit, waiting in self-imposed darkness for a sign that he was surrendering to sleep. My thoughts drifted of their own accord back to the old lady on the bus, and I frowned in remembrance of the lies she told, feeling like a fool for having believed her for an instant. There was no light at the end of the tunnel for us, only a slow slide deeper into the abyss. The events of the past few hours had proven that.

I was pulled abruptly from my dark musings by a slight shifting of Leo's hand. My eyes snapped open as his fingers twitched once, flexed experimentally, and then curled around my own. He showed no reaction to my gasp of disbelief, but merely cradled my hand in a gentle grip as his breath slowed with the encroachment of sleep.

The gesture might have been nothing more than an involuntary reflex, and therefore devoid of meaning, but the comfort it nevertheless provided was what finally broke me. A choked whimper tore its way out of my throat as hot tears forced themselves past my lids, etching salty trails across my face. I buried my head in my folded arm, attempting to smother the sound as I began to sob in earnest.

Feeling lost, like a small child trapped in a nightmare, I held Leo's hand tightly and cried myself to sleep.


	14. April: Uninvited Guests

**Fade**

_Chapter 14_

By Dierdre

My thanks go out to Malachi Martial, for his patient ear and invaluable help with the end of this chapter. You're the best, _koishii!

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_**Warning:**__ This chapter contains a scene of graphic violence. Nothing too severe for the most part, but if you're particularly prone to squeamishness then please try to avoid the second-to-last paragraph. Just trust me on this one, gentle readers. :)_

_I hope y'all enjoy!

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I awoke disoriented, trapped in hot darkness with the smell of stale iodine burning the back of my nostrils. Shifting stiffly under the blanket, I groaned at the bone deep ache in my limbs before once again settling. I drifted for a moment in the cusp between sleep and awakening, my mind blissfully numb of feeling, until I was jolted into full consciousness by a slight metallic sound.

The events of the previous day all came back to me in a rush, and I felt my heart clench in a thousand unwelcome emotions. Growling lowly as the sound chimed again, I buried my head in the pillow and slid my hand across the bed. My fingers searched in vain for the familiar roughness of Leo's hand, but encountered nothing except rumpled sheets and cold emptiness.

Suddenly alarmed by this, I pulled the blanket away from my face and braced my upper body with an elbow, my eyes screwed shut in defense against the fluorescent lighting. My dark-adapted pupils contracted painfully as I forced myself to blink, and for a moment the light was so dazzling that all I could see was white dotted with shifting flecks of red.

"It's about time you woke up."

I jerked at the unexpected voice, nearly falling backward as my elbow slipped, and it was only because I recognized the tone almost instantly that I managed not to yelp in surprise. Shielding my still-sensitive eyes with my good hand, I squinted into the brightness as a familiar form swam into focus. "Raph?"

"That would be me," he said simply, his voice slightly distorted by the smoldering cigarette dangling from his lips. He was sitting in the swivel chair by Don's worktable, smoke drifting about his head as he leaned intently over something I could not see from my reclining position.

"What time is it?" I asked thickly. I was so dehydrated my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth, and my thoughts were muzzy and seemed to be running at half speed. God, I would cheerfully maim for a cup of coffee right about now.

I heard that same curious sound again before he answered, "About six thirty in the evening. Give or take a few minutes."

"Six thirty? But that would mean…" I rubbed at my aching eyes, my next words colored with disbelief. "No, I can't have slept for nearly twenty hours. I've never slept that long in my _life_."

"My guess is you needed the rest," he replied, still not looking at me. "We both did. I've only been awake for a few hours myself."

Struggling into an upright position, I leaned against the headboard, using Leo's commandeered pillow as a cushion for my aching back. I yawned hugely and spent a few moments simply staring at Raph's seated form, gratified beyond words that he was conscious and seemingly on the mend.

The mottled patchwork of blood that had decorated his plastron had been scrubbed away, and his injured arm was now held immobile by an old blue sling strung across the back of his neck. One sai had been wedged, pommel down, into the vise set at the edge of Don's desk, and he was using his good hand to run a soft cloth over the sharp prongs. The pommel shifted slightly under his touch as he rubbed away the last flecks of dried blood, revealing the source of the mysterious clinking sound. His other sai was already in its accustomed place at his belt, the polished metal shining with the brightness of a silver dollar.

One can only take so much guilt and sorrow before the emotions transmute into something else entirely, and the sight of those familiar weapons was all the catalyst I needed. Watching the tip of his cigarette flame bright orange as he inhaled, I felt my eyes narrow of their own accord. "Put out the cigarette."

He exhaled a lazy plume of white smoke before finally looking at me, one eye ridge raised in inquiry. "What?"

"You lost enough blood to paint my bedroom," I snapped, "so put it out! You'll make yourself sick."

"Okay, okay! Yeesh, pushy broad…" He took one final drag and then dropped the cloth. Removing the cigarette from his mouth, he ground it out on the tabletop, creating yet another black pockmark on the scarred wood grain. Loosening the vice, he grabbed the weapon before it could clatter to the floor and slipped it smoothly into the loop on his belt.

Using the table for support, he levered himself to his feet with a grunt of effort and walked heavily over to the bed. Sitting down at my feet, we both winced when the bed shifted slightly as it took his weight. He was close enough now that the harsh overhead lighting could no longer hide the pallor of his skin or smooth away the lines of pain around his eyes, visible even through the mask.

Anger and remembered fear churned in my gut as I fixed my gaze on his bandaged arm, and I couldn't stop myself from recoiling at his closeness. I lowered my head and drew my good leg closer to my chest, my heart pounding with the knowledge of what he had tried to do.

Raph's eyes widened at my reaction, but narrowed just as quickly. "What's with the cringing? I'm not the one who looks like hell."

"Why did you do it?" I asked softly.

"Do what?"

My head shot up at his question, and I glared at him. "Don't play games with me. You know full well what I'm talking about. Why did you try to kill yourself?"

He stiffened in surprise, his shoulders rolling back into a ramrod straight posture. "I didn't. It was an accident."

"Don't lie to me," I said tightly. Uncurling from my hunched position, I leaned forward aggressively, my hands fisted in my lap. "If it had been a scratch, then I might've believed you. Hell, I _want_ to believe you, but I stitched up those puncture wounds myself. I'm not stupid, whatever you may think. It looked like you tried to rip your arm off!"

"Damn it, April, I-"

"No! I know things are bad, horrible actually, but you're not alone in this! You could have talked to me. I would have listened. I would have _understood_." I paused and inhaled deeply, attempting to calm myself. Such a thing was impossible, however, when my whole body vibrated with ire, tightening the tendons in my arms so that I was unable to unclench my fingers.

"Didn't anything I said last time get through to you? If you had died, then that would've been the end of Leo and me, too. You're the only thing holding us together, Raph. We still need you. We still _love_ you." Equal parts fury and remorse swelled in my chest, making my voice rough. "God, how could you? How could you have been so selfi-"

I never got to finish my emotionally overcharged statement, for Raph had apparently had enough. His hand shot out with rattlesnake speed, and I felt the rough scrape of his callused fingers as they clamped firmly over my mouth. I let out a muffled yelp of indignation, my hands reaching up to pry his fingers away, only to pause as I was pinned beneath his amber-eyed gaze.

"You never did know when to shut up," he hissed, his tone intense and as inflexible as granite. "I _am_ telling you the truth. I needed to blow off some steam, so I was practicing my katas in the dojo. I had a flashback in the middle of a maneuver, and when I came out of it I found that I'd stabbed myself with my own damn weapon. I'm telling you, woman, _it was an accident!_"

A small flame of hope flared to life, burning away my dark emotions with unexpected light. I reached up and he allowed me to pull one of his fingers back, enough to permit a few intelligible words to escape. I felt childish, and my voice reflected that in its diminutive volume, but I had to ask. "Y-you promise?"

"Oh, fuck me… Yes, April, yes I do! I swear on the graves of my family that I didn't try to commit suicide." He dropped his hand from my face, his eyes flashing with fury and impatience. "There. Does that satisfy you?"

I nodded once, the tension draining from my body in a rush of relief so great it was almost dizzying. Abruptly surging forward with a swiftness that surprised even me, I wrapped my arms around his neck in a careful embrace. Ignoring the protestations of my abused body and the way he stiffened under my touch, I buried my face in his neck. "God, Raph, I'm sorry! I was just so scared. When I saw you lying there, I thought…"

He sighed, some of the stiffness fading away with that low exhalation, and wrapped his good arm around my back. "I know what you thought," he said softly. "I'm sorry, too. That must have been a hell of a thing to see."

I nodded into his neck, willing myself not to sniffle. Seeming to sense my need for physical contact, he let me hold him for a while in silence, before tapping my shoulder blade lightly for attention. "Hey, April?"

"Yeah?"

"You reek."

I laughed a little at his matter-of-fact tone and pulled away, rubbing at my treacherously watering eyes. "I know, I know. That's one of the hazards of sleeping in bloody clothes." I plucked absently at the filthy fabric of my pajama top, before looking up and drawing my brows together. "Where's Leo?"

"I left him in the den room. Hopefully he won't try wandering into the dojo until I have time to clean up."

His voice was mild and somehow strange in context, and it took me a moment to understand just what the difference was. The bitterness that usually colored his voice when he spoke of his brother was gone.

"Raph, about Leo..." I paused and shifted uncomfortably, debating on whether or not to tell him. This spell of indecision lasted only a moment, however, for I remembered well what had happened last time. There would be no more secrets between us anymore, at least not about this. "I don't know if this means anything, but last night I was trying to get him to sleep, and he… he held my hand. It might have just been reflex, but I thought I should tell you."

His lack of surprise seemed a bit anticlimactic, but he more than made up for it with his next words. Eyes lightening with secret amusement, he said, "I already knew that, actually. I had to pry your hands apart when I woke him up. He kept trying to hold on."

"'Hold on'? But, what do you..?" My tongue tied up abruptly and all I could do was stare at him in surprise, my eyes wide and demanding answers.

Raph seemed determined to remain enigmatic, for he merely bent over laboriously and plucked my leg brace from its cushion of bloodstained clothing. He set it beside me on the bed and stood up, rocking back on his heels for an unsteady moment. "Go take a bath, April. I'll leave some of my street clothes outside the door."

He walked slowly to the door and gripped the knob. Leaning heavily on it, the metal creaking slightly under the strain, he paused long enough to glance over his shoulder at me. "When you get through, come into the den. I have something to tell you."

He left without another word, closing the door behind him and leaving me in solitude. I wasted a few seconds blinking bemusedly into the resulting quiet, and then shrugged as I began to cinch up my brace. I guess I would know soon enough.

Lacing up my shoes for such a short trip seemed more trouble than it was worth, so I gripped my sneakers in my good hand and remained barefoot, carefully picking my way through the smeared streaks of dried blood on the floor. I left the door open once I stepped out into the hallway, using the light to illuminate my halting steps.

Once safely ensconced behind the locked bathroom door, I lowered myself carefully down onto the lip of the bathtub. I turned the faucet, waiting patiently for the resulting gush of water to warm, and then plugged up the drain. Unbuckling my leg brace, I set it atop the toilet tank before wrestling with my clothing.

The thin material, soaked through in several places with watery blood, had dried overnight and was now clinging like scabs to large patches of my skin. I peeled the stiffened fabric from my body with some difficulty, hissing in discomfort when it pulled at the delicate skin on my upper left arm. Once fully undressed, I stared in disgust at the dark brown iodine stains on my arms and at the blood trapped under my fingernails.

I wasted no time wondering just what had possessed me to sleep like this, but instead eased myself over the lip of the tub and into the lukewarm water. The liquid sloshed as my body mass displaced it, little tongues of water lapping over the sides of the white porcelain, but I didn't care. I was too busy sighing in bliss, my muscles practically liquefying as the water soaked into my dry, itchy skin.

The water wasn't as warm as I would have liked it to be, but it was as hot as my scarred skin could tolerate. I made do, scrubbing vigorously to compensate for the lack of heat as the water around me gradually tinged pink. I then drained the tub and turned on the showerhead, sitting up with my eyes closed as water rained from above. The feel of fat droplets striking my shoulders and streaking down my hair was remarkably soothing, and it was only when my leg started to protest its immobile position that I found the energy to turn off the faucet and towel myself dry.

I crawled out of the tub in an undignified fashion and hauled myself to my feet, using the sink as leverage. Hopping carefully with my good leg and bracing myself against the wall, I opened the door a crack and quickly grabbed the pile of clothing. A complicated moment later, I was sitting on the closed toilet lid, fumbling with the oversized sweater as I fought to pull it over my head. Something fell with a clatter while I was still entangled in the red fabric, and when I reached down to pick it up it turned out to be my glove, wrapped securely around the blade of my kunai.

I slipped my hand back into the protective glove, which had been cleaned recently enough that the black fabric was still slightly damp. Smiling as the freshly polished kunai blade flashed like hematite under the light, I carefully stored the weapon in my sweater pocket and finished getting dressed.

Some two minutes later I limped cautiously through the hallway in my bloodied sneakers, feeling blessedly clean and trying my best not to breathe. Although the terror that had spurred my headlong flight through this darkness had dissipated, the slaughterhouse stench seemed to have grown in potency. Even bleach might not be enough anymore to completely banish the aroma of aged blood, which seemed to have penetrated the concrete like an infection.

I inhaled a deep breath of relief when I stepped into the comparative brightness of the den room, my nostrils expanding appreciatively when I detected the unexpected scent of coffee. My mouth watered almost immediately, my heartbeat quickening in anticipation of caffeine, and I shot an expectant glance towards the couch.

Raph was sprawled across the worn brown and tan cushions, his head pillowed by the armrest with a blank-eyed Leo sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him. His own eyes were closed, his features slack and empty of expression, and for a moment I thought he'd fallen asleep. He soon proved me wrong, however, by raising his arm and waving lazily towards the only unoccupied piece of furniture, where a steaming cup rested on a nearby end table.

I approached the recliner with some trepidation, feeling almost heretical for even considering sitting in Master Splinter's chair. But the invitation was obvious and I knew in my heart that Splinter would not have minded, so I lowered myself gingerly into the seat. Trying to ignore the wave of nostalgia that hit me at the familiar feel of the old leather, I stretched out my braced leg and reached for the coffee cup.

Raising the hot mug to my lips, I wasn't able to stop myself from grinning as the steam rippled pleasantly across my face. It was an instant brand, not the hand-ground Columbian beans that I preferred, but right now I didn't care in the slightest. It smelled like heaven.

I took a sip, sighing as the bitter liquid traveled down my throat and began to warm me from the inside out. "Thanks, Raph," I said. "You're a lifesaver."

The chair was set at a ninety-degree angle from the couch, so I could clearly see Raph shake his head. "No, I'm not." Mouth curving into a ghost of a smile, he pointed a forefinger at Leo. "But he is."

He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at me, frowning a little when he saw my expression of utter incomprehension. "I meant that literally. Who do you think patched me up in the first place?"

I slowly set the mug back down on the end table, my hands suddenly unsteady from the implications of what he had just said. "I thought you did it yourself."

"Nope. I was a goner. I could barely even _move_, let alone help myself." Pausing long enough to push himself into a semi-upright position, he grunted slightly when the movement pulled at his wound. "It was all him. He followed me into Don's room, made bandages and bound my arm, all on his own initiative." His eyes cut over to Leo's seated form, growing distant as he remembered. "He _spoke_ to me, April, even smiled a little. And now look at him."

Feeling surreal, like a person trapped in a waking dream, I blinked once and complied woodenly. At first glance Leo seemed no different, but as I narrowed my eyes and forced myself to study him closely I became aware of something remarkable. Leo's hands were moving.

The action was sporadic and slight, but there was no missing the way his curled fingers flexed and then tightened around air, as if he were struggling to grasp something only he could feel. His gaze was still devoid of acuity, but his eye ridges had drawn together into a small frown, creasing his forehead in faint lines. It was the most expression I had seen on his face in a long, long time.

Raph seemed to be waiting for me to speak, so I swallowed hard and said weakly, "He seems a bit… twitchy."

"He's been this way ever since he woke up," Raph said with satisfaction. "He's fighting it now. Fighting it hard." He turned back to look at me, and that same slight smile flitted across his face again. "Don't you get it? You were right. It may take a while, but Leo's coming back to us."

I blew out a low breath and sat back, struggling to process what I had just been told. Studying Leo thoughtfully, I felt my stomach flip-flop in a peculiar way as my shadowed world suddenly shifted on its axis, turning a little towards the light. My mouth curved of its own accord, slowly stretching into a grin so wide it hurt. "Well, I'll be," I whispered. "The old lady was right after all."

Raph shot me a curious look. "Repeat that?"

"Never mind. It's nothing." I reached for my coffee cup and cradled it in my hands, the smile still on my lips. That was one secret I would keep to myself for now.

Once I had drained the cup and gave the caffeine a chance to work its magic on my body, I left Raph dozing on the couch and spent some time puttering in the kitchen. I cleaned off the surgical tools and wiped down the counter and stove, before cutting up some vegetables and throwing them into a pot of light chicken broth. I was hungry and Raph needed something to help regain his strength, so a bowl of simple, nourishing soup was just the ticket for both of us.

I left it to simmer and once again braved the foul-smelling hallway, where I did my best to clean up some of the mess. Lacking the proper supplies I could do little about the blood, so I tried to ignore the rusty streaks beneath my feet as I fixed the medicine cabinet and salvaged what medical equipment I could. I then gathered up the dirty sheets, bloody towels and my ruined clothing, piling them up in the bathroom to be washed later. The dojo's tatami mat proved to be a lost cause, stiffened and soaked through at the center by a large red stain, so I just rolled it up and awkwardly shoved it aside, where Raph could dispose of it once he healed.

Nearly an hour later, with a delicious smell filling the kitchen and spilling out into the den, I removed the pot from the burner and woke up Raph. Ushering him into the kitchen and leading Leo by the hand, I ladled up bowls of steaming soup for all of us. We then ate in silence, broken only when I had to turn away from my own food to coax Leo to eat.

I felt the presence of our absent family acutely during that meal, like ghosts that flitted at the corners of my eyes, promising me a vision of them if only I turned my head to look. This sensation was a familiar one that filled my heart with wistfulness and a little sorrow, but the black despair that it had once engendered was gone. For the first time since the explosion, I could think of them fondly and with the absence of tears.

It was amazing what difference a little hope could make.

Full from the meal and still feeling the consequences of his mishap, Raph once again passed out on the couch with Leo at his side. I was feeling far too keyed up by now to sit still, so I burned off some excess energy by systematically dismantling and cleaning the sink's mountain of dirty dishes. Raph would probably be annoyed at me later for taking on the task, but it needed to be done. Some of those dishes had been sitting so long they had sprouted a healthy crop of mold.

Tired and a little sweaty from my exertions, but otherwise feeling accomplished, I wiped my water-wrinkled hands on a dishtowel and wandered into the den. I winced at the sight of the VCR clock, which sedately flashed the time in bright green numerals. Nearly ten o'clock already.

I was loath to wake him and debated on simply leaving a note, but I knew he would be livid if I left a second time without informing him first. And so, sighing regretfully, I leaned over the back of the couch and tapped Raph on the shoulder, backing away with practiced ease as he snorted and reached for his belt. The blood loss had rendered him sluggish, however, for he had only one sai half drawn before he realized what had happened. He relaxed and opened his eyes, frowning hard against the light, and looked up at me. "What?"

"It's nearly ten. The last bus will be leaving soon."

He blinked once before understanding washed across his features. Sitting up, he rubbed wearily at his left temple and said, "Tomorrow's Friday, isn't it? You have physical therapy in the morning."

I looked down and flexed my gloved left hand, suppressing a wince when my abused joints protested the movement. My fingers were still lightly stained brown, a legacy left behind by the iodine I had used to sterilize my hands. I wondered briefly just how the heck I was going to explain the discoloration, but pushed aside the bemused thought in favor of answering his question. "Yeah. I have some things to do at home to get ready for it, so I have to go now."

Nodding slightly, he levered himself to his feet and yawned, his good arm sweeping up in an expansive gesture as he stretched. His joints popped in muffled staccato bursts and he winced in reaction, dropping his hand down to grip the back of the couch as he swayed. "All right then," he muttered. "Just give me a minute and I'll be ready."

He turned away and began walking towards his room, only to be stopped short by my hand on his shoulder. "No way, Raph," I said firmly. "You're not walking me to the bus stop, not in your condition."

"Like hell I'm not," he snorted, turning enough so he could narrow his eyes at me. "It's too dark outside for you to go alone. I'll be fine."

And he did indeed look surprisingly well, especially for someone who'd nearly bled to death less than thirty-six hours ago. The guys had always been remarkable healers, and the food and rest seemed to have done Raph a lot of good.

Yet his skin was still too pale for my liking, and I felt uneasy about letting him walk back to the lair alone. Even in this weakened state I'd place bets against any thug stupid enough to cross him, but… "I don't like it. What if you pass out or something? You'll be easy pickings for any street gang if you do!"

"That ain't going to happen, April. I've met my quota of stupid mistakes for the week." His chin lifted in annoyance when it seemed I was about to continue protesting, and he cut me off before I could speak, "Just give it up. This is one argument you're not going to win."

He was right, unfortunately. His stubbornness had kicked into full gear, and I knew that even if I left now he would still shadow me. I had lost this round, but I did my best to look at the bright side. At least if he was walking beside me, I could watch out for him part of the way.

"Fine," I sighed. "But make sure to dress warmly. It's cold out."

He rolled his eyes mockingly. "Yes, mother."

It was difficult to keep from laughing at his sarcastic assessment of my attitude, but I somehow managed to confine my amusement to a slight smile. Sitting down on the couch as Raph vanished into the hallway, I passed the time by quietly talking to Leo. Whispering my thanks for saving Raph's life and declaring how proud I was of him garnered no reaction, but I didn't let that disturb me. I took comfort from the knowledge that somewhere in the recesses of his mind he had heard.

Raph returned with relative alacrity, clad in a blue hooded sweater and baggy jeans, his feet shoved into a pair of oversized black boots. The garment's thick sleeve had been forced over the bandages and pulled passed his wrist, rendering his tri-fingered hand almost invisible when he clenched it into a fist. Tugging at his sling in an attempt to shift the strap to a more comfortable position, he then drew the hood over his head.

He shoved his good hand into his pocket and lowered his gaze, allowing the shadows to fall over his features, and suddenly he looked like any other stocky teenager. Although I had seen this transformation many times before, it never failed to startle me. If I didn't already know him so well, I could have walked right passed him on the street and not looked twice.

Walking up to the elevator and pressing the button, he turned back to me and tilted his head, allowing light to reflect in emerald green highlights along the planes of his face. "You coming?" he asked brusquely, startling me from my reverie.

I nodded, my cheeks flaming in slight embarrassment, and hurriedly limped into the kitchen to retrieve my backpack.

Moments later we were stepping out of the elevator and into the gloom of the warehouse, grimacing simultaneously as the elevator doors squealed shut. We made our way through the musty interior, Raph walking stubbornly in the lead, and I was treated with a curious look as he turned the doorknob, only to find it locked.

I shrugged one shoulder and grinned lopsidedly, feeling foolish in retrospect. "Paranoia got the better of me last night, that's all."

He apparently didn't care enough to press the issue, for he merely unlocked the door and ushered me through. I hunched my shoulders against the brisk wind that traveled down the abandoned street, sending shreds of trash and old newspaper scuttling across the pavement to tangle around my sneakers. Raph closed the door and silently offered me his elbow, the wind tugging playfully at his hood.

I took the proffered arm as we began to walk, taking care not to react when I realized that he was leaning on me as much as I was on him. Struggling to meet his eyes through the shadows that masked his features, however, I couldn't stop myself from saying, "I'm going to give you a call when I get home, just to reassure myself that you got back safely. So make sure to answer your cell, okay?"

"Fine, fine," he grumbled without rancor. "You worry too much, you know. You're gonna give yourself an ulcer."

I laughed and ruefully patted at my stomach through the red cloth of my sweater. "A bit late for that, I'm afraid. But since I'm already pestering you, can you think of anything you or Leo might need? I'm going to the store to pick up some cleaning supplies before I come back tomor-"

I cut myself off in mid-word as he halted in his tracks, stopping so abruptly that I nearly stumbled. He extricated himself from my grip and lifted his head, his shoulders tensing as he appeared to sniff at the air. "April," he said quietly. "Go back to the warehouse and lock the door. Don't ask any questions, just go."

I'm ashamed to say that I hesitated, looking at him in confusion as his hand reached into his sweater pocket and curled around an unseen hilt. The wind picked up with unexpected intensity and whipped around us like a short-lived tornado, blowing back Raph's hood and sending bits of newspaper whirling into the air in defiance of gravity. Whether it was irrational dread spawned by the phenomenon or my own sluggish instincts finally kicking in, I began to back away dutifully, my heart racing with sudden adrenaline.

I hadn't gotten more than a few steps before Raph snarled in rage, backing up until his body was protectively shielding my own. He withdrew his hand and brought his sai into full view, the dim light from a distant streetlamp glinting off the sharp prongs in obvious threat. Reaching hastily for my own weapon and following his upturned gaze, my breath hitched at the sight of several distorted figures crouched on the rooftop above us, their pure black forms silhouetted against the midnight blue sky.

A sudden feeling of stomach-curdling dread compelled me to whip my head around, revealing still more Foot clan members standing sentinel atop the warehouse. They made no move to attack or speak, but merely remained eerily still, with only the wind tugging at their black clothing to give them the appearance of life. They were obviously waiting for something, but what?

An answer came in the form of a soft and deceptively pleasant voice, seasoned with the barest trace of a foreign accent. The wind carried it to our ears as if cowed into obedience by the quietly spoken words, which held an undercurrent of authority that was as inflexible as tempered steel.

"You neglected our meeting, Raphael."

One of the dark forms above us suddenly separated from the group, swinging over the edge of the building to land catlike on the fire escape below. The metal construct didn't even creak as the figure leaned casually against the railing, exposing a face to the lamplight that was as pale and serene as a china doll. Short hair the color of a raven's wing was held back by a red headband, embroidered at its center with the emblem of the Foot.

Raph growled low in his throat and then slowly replied, his voice flat as slate and promising death, "I'm always happy to disappoint, bitch."

Karai acted as if she hadn't heard, her green eyes narrowing as she contemplated Raph's sling. "You appear to have injured yourself. Recently, no less." Seeming to come to a decision, she straightened and crossed her arms. "Very well. I will give you one last chance to come with us quietly, so that we may talk."

"And if I refuse?"

Her mouth curved at his gritted tone, the corner of one lip lifting into the barest of smiles. "Then we will make you."

I never even saw him move. One instant Raph's hand was at his side, the pommel of his weapon trembling slightly from the force of his white-knuckled grip, and then the next his sai was whirring through the air like a miniature comet. It spun towards her with such swiftness that Karai had no time for niceties, merely tumbling inelegantly over the railing as it pierced the trailing tails of her headband and ripped the emblem from her forehead. Embedding itself into the wall with enough force to crack the brickwork around the triple prongs, the sai quivered as the skewered length of cloth snapped in the wind like a banner.

Karai plummeted two stories, only to twist her body around at the last moment and bend her knees to absorb the impact. She landed heavily, the breath forced from her lungs in an explosive huff, and her hands slapped hard against the pavement as she fought to remain upright. Peering up at us through a curtain of disheveled hair, she took in a pained breath and shook her head in a gesture of mild regret.

"As you wish." Surging upright and drawing a katana in a single fluid motion, she calmly lifted the weapon over her head as Raph snarled and began to advance. The blade flashed in the faint light as she twisted the hilt in a deliberate fashion, winking out a silent message that I could not understand.

Whether Raph was able to interpret the code or merely responding to a movement I couldn't see, I wasn't sure, but he suddenly stiffened and whirled around. Twisting out of the way even as a dart missed him by millimeters and smashed on the concrete, his shoulder impacted my side with bruising force and sent me tumbling to the ground. My backpack absorbed most of the impact, the laptop inside shattering under my weight, and I rattled away the stars dancing in front of my vision just in time to see Raph drop his remaining sai.

It hit the pavement with a metallic clatter, its pommel striking the heel of my sneaker as he staggered and reached for his throat. With a curse and a truncated hiss of pain, he tore out the dart that had been meant for me. He glared at the needle-sharp tip, which dripped sluggishly with an unknown substance, and let it fall to the concrete before collapsing silently to his knees. I cried out his name and struggled to extricate myself from the tangled straps of my backpack, reaching out for him with my gloved hand. He turned his head to look at me, his eyes luminous and drowning-deep with an emotion I could not begin to understand.

"April," he hissed thinly. "Run."

And then his eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he fell forward, smacking face first into the concrete with all the grace of a felled sequoia. I howled in reaction and clawed at the straps pinning my shoulders, finally freeing myself and staggering drunkenly to my feet.

Karai snapped out an order in Japanese and her clan promptly obeyed, surging down the fire escape ladders with mercurial grace and surrounding us in mere seconds. She then held up a hand, and the black-clad group immediately halted their advance. Every head turned towards her as they stood with coiled patience, like a pack of attack dogs awaiting their masters' signal. "We have no interest in you, Ms. O'Neil," Karai said calmly. "Walk away now and I swear you will not be harmed."

I shook my head in denial, and the light slid wetly across the grey blade of my kunai as I brandished it in my right hand. Terror was washing over me in a continuous sheet, rendering me lightheaded from its intensity, but I wouldn't allow my arms to shake or the snarl of warning on my lips to falter. Despite the apparent hopelessness of the situation, I was determined to stand my ground. I would protect him as he had tried to protect me.

"The first person to touch him dies," I replied, my voice level and radiating truth.

Karai shook her head again in that same slight gesture of irritation, before letting her hand fall back to her side. "Take him quickly," she ordered. "Avoid harming her if you can."

I lost sight of her as the circle of ninjas tightened inexorably; walking forward with the easy rolling swagger of carnivores that know their prey cannot escape. I lashed out with my weapon when one man dared to venture too close, tearing the fabric of his sleeve but missing flesh as he backed away with enviable speed. A flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye caused another surge of adrenaline to shoot through my veins, and I reacted out of pure instinct. Twisting my torso around and nearly overbalancing myself, I threw my weapon with every ounce of strength I possessed.

There was a bright spray of blood and a roar of pain as the kunai buried itself deep into the shoulder of the man who'd tried to sneak up on me. It wasn't a killing blow, but it made the others hesitate as the man staggered backwards, his hands clutching spasmodically at his injury. I tried to capitalize on this momentary reprieve, reaching down to grab Raph's sai as an alternate weapon. My crippled body slowed me down too much, however, for the longest prong had barely cleared the concrete before I felt a sharp pain flame up in my braced leg.

I cried out and dropped the weapon, hurriedly tearing the dart from my flesh, but it was already far too late. A terrible numbness quickly spread outward from the entry wound, sweeping up to envelop my entire body in a nauseating wave. My legs weakened and I wobbled dangerously, before folding up like a marionette.

The strong arms that grabbed me roughly around the waist were the only things that kept me from collapsing unceremoniously to the concrete. My head lolled against an unfamiliar shoulder, and I found myself staring fuzzily at a hooded face, his chocolate brown eyes framed by coarse black fabric. "Nice try, _mecchen_," he said, his voice tinged with a lilt of mockery, "but we still win."

Despair flooded through me at those simple words, and a weak sob tore itself from my throat. But even as my mind reeled with the enormity of my failure, something unexpected welled in up the depths of my soul. A small voice, made thick with rage and sounding very much like the person I had tried so hard to protect:

_When all else fails, don't be afraid to fight dirty. Go for the bastard's eyes, April._

Feeling disconnected and floaty, almost dreamlike, I used my last drop of will to lash out obediently and bury my hooked thumb deep into his right eye. There was a liquid pop and blood mixed with fluid the color of watery milk spilled down my fingers, soaking into my glove even as he let out a baritone shriek of purest agony. He dropped me as if I had stabbed him with a branding iron, reaching up to claw hysterically at his face, and I had one last glimpse of him falling backwards into the arms of Karai before I hit the pavement with bone-jarring force.

I lay unmoving by Raph's still form, gasping hard as the drugs relentlessly pulled apart my psyche and blacked out my vision. The screams of the wounded man still resounded distantly in my ears, and I felt a brief surge of bitter triumph before unconsciousness ripped away thought and sent me tumbling into the void.


	15. Raphael: This Can't be Good

**Fade**

_Part 15_

By Dierdre

Beta read by the incomparable Reluctant Dragon. Go check out her fics!

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_**AN:**__ (Throws self at her readers' feet) I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't kill me, I'm sorry! I never intended for there to be such a long gap between chapters, but with Christmas, work and various other life dramas, this fic kind fell by the wayside. I shall endeavor not to make y'all wait such an egregiously long time anymore, okay?_

_And now, without further ado… on with the fic! I hope y'all enjoy. :) _

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_Csssshink _

The protracted sound had a harsh, metallic edge, and it tore away the oblivion cloaking my mind with a suddenness that was literally painful. A headache exploded in my skull, sending shifting flecks of white darting behind my closed lids, and only years of training prevented me from crying out in protest. I somehow managed to remain quiet and utterly still, playing opossum and wondering why the hell I was communing with the concrete.

_Csssshink_

That grating noise came again, and it set off another miniature fireworks display of pain behind my eyes. My heartbeat quickened and my stomach rolled with sudden nausea, but both maladies quickly faded into unimportance as my thoughts began to clear. One by one, memories locked into place, and my dismay grew with each passing second.

Oh, Christ… I remembered everything now.

_Csssshink_

My mind immediately boiled over with thoughts of Leo and April. I forcefully tamped down my panic, however, determined to assess the situation before giving up my pretense of unconsciousness.

My close proximity to the ground forced the musty, mineral smell of concrete into my nostrils, making it difficult to detect anything else. I nevertheless inhaled several slow breaths, and gradually a few other aromas filtered through. The stale, canned scent of a long abandoned building, cut through with the moldy whiff of stagnant water, and a trace of car exhaust, faint but still detectable.

So I was somewhere near street level, not below ground or trapped at the top of a high rise building. This was encouraging news for someone in need of a quick escape, but I couldn't bring myself to get worked up about it. I would've gladly given my left arm to have been able to catch a hint of April's perfume.

_Csssshink_

I gritted my teeth and concentrated on a new sense, even as a wave of fresh pain shivered through my skull. Beyond the maddening sound of a whetstone sliding down steel, I could hear the staccato drip of rainwater, the occasional resonant honk of a distant car horn, and the soft scrabbling of hidden rodents. And underscoring it all was a continuous humming; the bored, tuneless sound of a human with no concept of rhythm.

Imprisoned in an old warehouse with what seemed to be a single guard. I guess they weren't too worried about me escaping.

_Csssshink_

Not only was the sound killing my head, but it was beginning to get on my last nerve. Better drop the charade now before I snap and go on a killing spree.

With a moan that was only half-feigned, I stretched out my stiff limbs and lifted my cheek from the rough concrete. The sound stopped immediately, a fact that I was deeply grateful for, but I didn't have much time to enjoy the respite. As soon as I opened my eyes, I was treated with a fresh stab of discomfort, brought about by harsh light emitted from an unknown source.

I blinked rapidly to clear away the tears of pain, and gradually my vision swam into focus. The first thing I noticed was a series of bars, molded out of rust-mottled steel and bolted securely to the floor. My heart was gripped with an all-too-familiar sinking sensation, and a slow turn of my head only served to confirm what I already knew. I was in a cage, and there was a padlock on the door the size of my fist.

Well, ain't that just peachy. And here I thought my life couldn't get any better...

"Look who's back among the living."

The jovial tenor voice cut through my sardonic musings like a knife through rice paper. I growled in reaction, levering myself up with my good arm, and squinted furiously into the light. I caught a glimpse of a lean human form lounging in a folding chair, with the blade of a _tanto_ glinting in his right hand. A portable halogen lamp burned at his feet, all but blinding me as it threatened to burn out my retinas.

As if reading my thoughts, the mysterious figure reached out with a booted foot and pushed the lamp slightly to the right. The luminescence fell away, and if I had been alone I would have gasped in relief. As it was, I merely shook my head to rattle away the white spots marring my vision and glared blearily at the man. The black _dogi_ quickly betrayed his status as a member of the Foot, but his mask had been removed, revealing a face that seemed remarkably young. A shock of white-blonde hair and eyes that were a startlingly pale shade of blue did nothing to dispel this impression.

Aware of my scrutiny, the side of his mouth lifted into an easy grin that made me want to rip his lips off. God save me from cheerful people, especially when I had a headache.

Through sheer force of will, I managed to sit upright. My efforts rewarded with a hot stab of pain, I reached up to press a finger to my temple… and nearly jumped at the feel of my own skin. My belt, clothes and sling had been taken away, as I expected, but those sneaky bastards had apparently swiped my bandanna, too. I'd worn that strip of cloth for years, and it felt strange to be without it, but I missed its presence for a far more pressing reason. The tiny lock picks sewn next to the knot would've _really_ come in handy.

While I was distracted by the loss, the kid had tucked away the whetstone and sheathed the knife. Plucking a cell phone from one of the many pockets on his belt, he flipped it open and quickly punched in a number. He pressed it to his ear, and when he spoke next his voice had deepened into a tone of solemn respect. "Mistress Karai… he's awake."

Upon hearing the name of the one who'd caused this mess, I suddenly found the strength to surge to my feet. Gripping the bars to keep from falling flat on my face, I shouted as best I could with a throat that seemed to be lined with sandpaper. "What've you done with April, you cowardly bitch! _Where the hell's my brother?_ I swear to Christ, if you hurt either one of them, I'll make sure it takes you three days to die!"

The kid's eyes widened at my outburst, his white face paling still further. Listening to the voice on the other end of the line, however, his troubled features smoothed out, and he seemed to regain his composure. "_Hai_, Mistress," he said steadily. "I'll tell him."

The phone shut with a decisive snap, and he pocketed the device with rather more flourish than was necessary. "Oroku-san will be here in just a few minutes. She says she'll discuss the matter with you when she arrives."

Almost crazed with anger and worry, I wanted to reach through the bars and shake him until his teeth rattled. I settled instead for taking a steadying breath, leaning my shoulder next to the door and running a speculative hand over the hinges. With sheer-resistant studs and the latest in triple-weight design, they were the kind most often used in prisons; heavy, durable and resistant to any form of tampering short of a blowtorch. I'd have better luck trying to gnaw through the bars with my teeth.

"Great," I growled lowly.

"You're lucky, you know," my jailor suddenly said. "It's not often that Oroku-san has a private audience with someone, especially a captive."

I shot him an incredulous look that went completely unacknowledged, for the boy was now standing and fastidiously adjusting the hem of his uniform. Cradling my bandaged arm against my plastron, I stared in borderline disbelief as he brushed at his shoulders, attempting to remove any tiny specks of lint. Finally, he pulled at the cuffs of his sleeves, his blue eyes alight with nervousness and something that I belatedly identified as hero-worship.

Shaking my head, I let out a protracted sigh of annoyance. I just knew I was going to regret this, but I had to give it a shot. The boy was obviously a new initiate, no older than sixteen and still so wet behind the ears I was surprised he could tie his belt.

"What's your name, kid?"

He jumped a little, as if he had temporarily forgotten my existence, and lifted his head to stare at me. "Jacob," he said cautiously.

I gripped the bars with both hands and fixed him with what I hoped was an earnest expression. "Look, Jacob, I don't know what kind of lies Karai's been feeding you, but you can't trust her. She may not be related by blood, but she's still Saki's daughter, and nothing good ever came out of that family. If you stick with her, she's gonna stab you in the back."

Jacob's eyes clouded over steadily as I talked, his lips thinning with an obstinacy I knew all too well. When he spoke next, his voice had deepened almost to a growl, "You're wrong. The only reason I'm alive today is because of her. The Foot-"

"Has been a haven for murderers and thieves for longer than I've been alive. Three months of new management is not going to change that." Pausing long enough to let the venom drain from my voice, I reached through the bars with my good arm and pointed a finger at him in a gesture of warning. "Listen close, Jacob, 'cause this is the best advice you're ever gonna to get. _Go home._ Your so-called clan is going to get you killed."

I had to give him credit; he didn't just tell me to go to hell. It was easy to read the uneasiness in his body language as he reached down and plucked a small bundle of cloth from behind his chair. He ran the mask through his gloved hands in an absent gesture, his eyes distant and unseeing, and for a second I thought I'd actually gotten through to him.

The moment passed quickly, however, for his hands soon tightened around the cloth. His shoulders squared, and when he lifted his head back up to gaze at me, I saw that the look of indecision was gone. I could almost hear the iron gates of his mind clanging shut.

"They _are_ my clan," he finally responded, his voice strangely calm. "The people in it are my family now, and I stick with our _jonin_ to the death."

I wish I could say I was surprised. Jacob had been immersed in Karai's doctrine for too long, which just about killed any chance I had of making him see reason. Hell, it was stupid to have even tried.

I laughed a little; a harsh, ironic sound that had nothing to do with humor. "Heh, don't say I didn't warn you."

Even as I spoke, my headache, which had been temporarily banished during the short conversation, came back with renewed vigor. Suddenly feeling the full effect of the last couple of days, I turned my back on my jailor and leaned against the bars. My new accommodations lacked anything resembling furniture, so I simply slid down until I was sitting on the floor, my head lolling back to rest against the cool metal. Might as well take it easy until Karai decided to show up and gloat.

There was a faint whisper of cloth as Jacob shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. He seemed slightly surprised at his own voice when he suddenly blurted, "Oroku-san told me a lot about you guys. You had a clan once, too, so surely you-"

"Shut up, kid," I said tiredly, cutting him off once again. "Don't you know you're not supposed to talk to prisoners?"

He lapsed into an annoyed silence as I sighed and closed my eyes, trying to drift into a meditative doze. Anything to keep from reflecting on the grim reality of the situation, which was looking bleaker with each passing moment. I was locked in a freaking cage with a greenhorn as my keeper, my family was missing and our collective fate now rested in the hands of the Shredder's heir. We were ass-deep in alligators and sinking fast.

What had they done with Leo and April? Were they even still alive? I simply didn't know, and the uncertainty ate at my spirit like a cancer.

Speaking of which, I could really use a cigarette…

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I nearly jumped when the silence was broken by the squeal of rusted hinges. Surging to my feet and whirling around so quickly I nearly staggered, I strained my eyes and attempted to see past the artificial lighting into the darkness beyond. There was a protracted groan and a hollow boom as an unseen door swung shut, and although I couldn't hear the resulting footsteps, I had no doubt who was coming.

Jacob shot a glance at me and for a moment our gazes locked, his expression a potent mixture of anticipation and dread. Karai had finally decided to make her appearance.

"Remember my warning," I said lowly.

He shook his head, as if to banish a lingering daydream, and then hurriedly tugged on his mask. The black fabric leached the color from his eyes, making him look almost blind, and brought about an immediate change in his demeanor. His shoulders rolled back even as his posture relaxed, and when he turned on his heel and stepped gracefully into the darkness, it was hard to believe that it was actually the same person. It was amazing what a little nullity could do.

My hands tightened on the bars, and I could feel my blood pressure rising as a quiet conversation took place, just beyond the circle of light. Karai was out there, only a few easy strides away, but with me locked in this cage it might as well have been miles.

Christ, I hated to be confined, locked away like some animal in a zoo. Yet another mark against her on my blacklist.

After a moment the voices ceased, and my hearing was again assaulted by a ponderous squeal. The door slammed shut with discouraging finality, and an instant later the illumination was disrupted by a slender figure. Clad in concealing black except for the red slash of her headband, her steps were unhurried and light as she moved forward with the easy grace of a lifelong athlete.

Stopping just outside my reach, she lifted her gaze to meet mine, her expression still locked in that same maddening air of serenity. Her hand reached up to touch the leather strap that weighed down her right shoulder, and my blood ran cold when I recognized it as April's backpack.

"Now, Raphael," Karai said evenly, "we _will_ talk."


	16. Raphael: Leverage

**Fade**

_Part 16_

By Dierdre

Beta read by Reluctant Dragon. Go check out her fics!

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The mere sound of her voice quickened the rush of blood in my veins, and I felt my heart began to pound in a familiar double-time beat of rage. It squeezed the breath from my lungs, making my voice thin as I growled, "Take your filthy hand off April's backpack. You have no right to touch it."

Her expression did not change, but I could still detect a hint of amusement as she ran her fingers languorously down the worn leather. "You're hardly in a position to make demands."

"_Kutabare, ikeike,_" I spat, feeling a surge bitter gratification when her eyes narrowed at the insult. "If you didn't need me for something you would've just killed me outright, so I think my _position_ is pretty damn perfect."

Despite the haze of red that clouded my vision, I maintained enough presence of mind to realize that snapping at her like that was not only rash, but pretty damn stupid. A captive at the mercy of an enemy was not in a position to act aggressively, and telling that selfsame enemy to fuck off was an engraved invitation to a slow death by torture. I knew I was digging my grave a little deeper with every spoken word… but I quite frankly couldn't bring myself to care. The thought of Karai in possession of April's backpack, pawing through its contents as if its owner had ceased to matter, brought with it a wave of revulsion so intense it bordered on nausea.

Unable to help myself, I gripped the bars tightly, ignoring the sudden rush of pain that shot up my injured arm, and fixed her with a glare so fierce that by all rights she should have burst into flame. "Set the bag on the ground and tell me what you've done with my family."

Karai was a minimalist when it came to displays of emotion, so it was difficult to tell just what she thought of that last sentence. The only giveaway was her eyes, which had hardened to chips of emerald in a face that was still as pale and tranquil as a corpse laid out in state.

Oh, yes, the bitch was pissed, so imagine my surprise when she suddenly bowed her head and blew out a small breath. After a moment she straightened and met my gaze, and I saw that the hardness had drained from her eyes, replaced by an emotion that was dangerously close to acquiescence. "As you wish," she said calmly.

She curled her fingers around the leather strap and lifted the bag off her shoulder, before depositing it on the floor with deliberate care. Taking a step to left with all the solemnity of a holy ritual, Karai then hooked her thumbs on her belt and opened her mouth again to speak, "Leonardo is unharmed, and will remain so regardless of the outcome of our conversation."

A strange expression flitted across her face when she said my brother's name, as if she had just bit down on something unpleasant, but was too polite to spit it out. Leo's unscheduled trip to La La Land had apparently come as an unwelcome surprise, and if I hadn't been so busy sagging in relief I might have said something sarcastic.

As it was, I was still trying to regain my composure when Karai continued, "Ms. O'Neil's situation, however, is a bit more precarious."

A spike of fear-induced adrenaline stabbed through me, as sudden and shocking as a kick in the teeth. My good hand was gripping the bar so tightly I actually heard the metal creak, but before I could launch into an angry tirade, Karai cut me off with her next words.

"Remain calm, Raphael. She is still very much alive, despite many in my clan's desires to the contrary. She wounded two of my people in her bid to protect you, and while injuries are to be expected with our lifestyle, they are most displeased by the manner in which she dispatched Akito." She paused and frowned again, her expression momentarily distant. "He will survive, but his right eye is damaged beyond repair. He will have to be retired from active duty."

My thoughts thoroughly derailed by what she had just said, I blinked and felt my grip on the bars slacken. Letting her soldiers get smacked around by a gimp didn't say much about Karai's command abilities, so she had little reason to make it up, but the notion was still difficult to process. It was hard to believe that April, _my_ April, who was terrified of spiders and cried every time she watched Old Yeller, could injure two trained ninjas with nothing but a short kunai blade. And to actually put out a man's eye…

Wicked glee rippled across my skin in a sudden, warm wave, and it was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud. Alone, crippled and probably frightened out of her mind, but she'd _still_ kicked ass. I'd never been prouder of anyone before in my life.

The moment did not last long, however, for the reality of the situation quickly killed my good mood. April's act of heroism had pissed off a lot of bad people, and she was now at the mercy of those who had no reason to treat her kindly. The thought was chilling, and it leeched all amusement from my voice when I said, "If any of your lackeys hurt her, I will take it out of your hide."

"Let's dispense with the tiresome threats, shall we? The injuries sustained by my warriors are regrettable, but their scars will serve as a reminder to them all about the dangers of underestimating an opponent, no matter how fragile they might seem." Karai shifted her weight and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind one ear, before continuing in a voice as mild as milk, "My people have been ordered to exact no retribution, and they will naturally abide by their _jonin's_ decision, but once she is no longer under my care, I cannot guarantee her continued safety. My men are loyal, but they can be remarkably vindictive."

She reached out with a booted foot and nudged April's backpack in a distracted fashion, paying no heed to the way my lip curled in automatic warning. "Perhaps, however, you can make it worth my while to police the matter indefinitely."

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she was holding all the cards, and we both knew it. I rested my head against the bars and let the coolness of the rough metal sink into my skin, taking the edge off my headache. "What do you want from me, Karai?" I asked tiredly.

"I just want to have a conversation with you, without your usual bouts of sarcasm or attempts at intimidation. That is a fair request, is it not?"

"I want to speak with her," I said resolutely, lifting my head from the bars. "Until I hear her voice, we have nothing to say to each other."

She shrugged one shoulder, her expression indifferent, and reached into a pouch on her belt. Pulling out a slim phone painted a generic shade of silver, she dialed a number and pressed the device to her ear. I strained to hear the faint tonal pulse and watched tensely as she tilted her head to the side, the harsh halogen lighting reflecting off her dark tresses in brushings of midnight blue.

"Yukio," she said, with an abruptness that was almost startling, "give the phone to Ms. O'Neil."

There was a pause as we waited for the anonymous subordinate to comply, and then an explosion of sound that I could easily hear across the distance separating us. My captor winced and instinctively jerked the phone away as a very familiar voice poured from the tiny speaker, thick with rage and undeniably feminine.

Karai lifted one corner of her mouth into the barest of smiles and wordlessly tossed the phone to me. The drugs and my recent injury had slowed my reaction time, but I still managed to dart my hand through the bars and snag the cell before it could smash against the concrete. My treacherously numb fingertips lost their hold on the slick plastic, and I fumbled badly until I was able to get a good grip on the receiver and draw it through the cage bars. Silently cursing myself for such an obvious display of weakness, I turned my back on Karai and pressed the phone to my ear… only to have to suppress a wince of my own.

No doubt about it; April was pissed.

"-hurt him in any way, I'll kill you! I don't care where you go, I'll… I'll hunt you down like a dog! I swear to god, I will! I'll-"

It had been a laughable attempt at privacy, but I was suddenly very glad I had decided to turn around. The last thing I wanted was for Karai to see me grinning like an idiot.

"Remind me to help you work on your death threats," I said dryly.

The stream of invective cut off abruptly, her enraged train of thought screeching to a stop at the sound of my voice. "Raphael?" she asked hesitantly. At my affirmative huff, she let out a glad cry and began to speak in a relieved, rapid clip, "Raph, you're alive! Are you all right? Where has she taken you? What does she want? When-"

"Just shut up for a second, will ya, April?" I cut in without acrimony. She obeyed with almost unheard-of alacrity, falling silent with such swiftness that I almost heard her jaw snap shut. "I'm fine. As for the rest… your guess is as good as mine."

I paused and sucked in a breath, attempting to prepare myself for the outcome of a far more important question. "Is Leo with you?"

"Yes, he is," she replied, eager to reassure me. "He seems fine, although he's really twitchy right now. I don't think he likes this."

Something deep within my chest loosened at her words, and the sudden release actually weakened the muscles in my legs, forcing me to lock my knees to keep from falling flat on my face. I hadn't truly believed my brother was alright until that moment. Considering our situation, it was a fleeting comfort at best, but I'd take what I could get.

When I could trust myself to speak again, I said, my voice slightly hoarse, "Heh… I can't imagine why. What about you? Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay, aside from a nasty headache. Two Foot goons are breathing down my neck as we speak, but they haven't touched me." She faltered for a moment, as if reluctant to continue. "We're in the lair, Raph. They must have followed me from the bus stop when I came by last time. I sensed something was wrong then, but I… I ignored it." Her tone had changed gradually as she spoke, transforming into a somber, frail thing, which trembled with an emotion I belatedly recognized as guilt. "This is all my fault. I'm so, so sorry."

Closing my eyes in reaction to her confession, I reached up absentmindedly with my free hand and pressed a finger to my temple. My wound twinged in sharp reminder as the stitches pulled, and I was suddenly treated with an image of April's anguished face as she shouted at me, begging to know why I'd tried to kill myself. That brief memory flash was enough to dispel my anger at her accidental betrayal, the emotion fading into nonexistence before it had a chance to properly form.

"It's okay, April," I said at last, in a tone as gentle as I could make it. "Just take care of Leo for me until I get back."

"Don't worry. I won't let them lay a finger on him."

She sounded so grim and determined that I couldn't help but smile. "That's my girl. I'll see you soon."

I was reluctant to hang up, but I had nothing else of import to say, so I ended the call without another word. Closing the phone with a decisive snap, I turned around and fixed Karai with a speculative stare. The woman kept her face carefully neutral, but I swear I could detect a hint of smugness as she held out her hand, mutely asking for the return of her property. I briefly debated keeping the cell, but ultimately tossed it through the bars, scowling a bit when she caught it easily. It wasn't like I could call for backup, anyway.

As she glanced down and belted the phone, I cradled my injured arm against my plastron and said, "You wanted to talk… so talk. You just bought yourself five minutes."

"I believe it will take more than that, but it will serve for the moment." As if to add emphasis to her point, Karai turned in her heel and grabbed the metal back of Jacob's chair. Dragging it over next to April's bag, she sat down gracefully and crossed her legs, an almost comically feminine gesture from someone with more muscle than curves. "Why do you think I brought you here, Raphael?"

There was only one possible answer to that. "'Cause you're a pushy broad who won't take no for an answer?"

"Sarcasm, remember?" she said dryly, seeming to hold off an eye-roll by effort of will alone. When she spoke again a moment later, her voice had changed, taking on the lilt of a storyteller beginning a very familiar tale. "The feud between our two families originated with our fathers, nearly a quarter of a century ago, but it did not _truly_ begin until the first drop of blood was spilled fifteen years later. It-"

"Thanks for the recap, but I know this story as well as you do," I interrupted, in a tone that conveyed strained patience. "Can we just fast-forward to the point?"

I felt vaguely triumphant when she sighed gustily, obviously annoyed that I had stolen her thunder. Only a few minutes into this little tête-à-tête with the Ice Queen, and already I was finding ways to get under her skin.

What could I say? It was a gift.

"Very well," she finally said, her voice thin with the effort of self-control. Standing in an abrupt motion, she stalked away from the chair, all but disappearing into the gloom as the portable lamp weakened with distance. Light shimmered in a pale glow across her skin as Karai then turned around and lifted her arm in a determinedly dramatic gesture. The neck of her uniform fell open slightly from the movement, and I was surprised to see a wide scar curving under her collarbone and slashing downward, shining an angry red and still rather fresh.

Seemingly unaware of my scrutiny, she gesticulated with her upraised hand and said, "This is the warehouse where my father and your family first battled. I am surprised you don't remember it."

I glanced around briefly, but was unable to detect anything recognizable in the building's looming darkness. Shrugging my shoulders as I drew a blank, I sardonically replied, "We were on the roof, mostly. And I was too busy trying to keep Saki and his cronies from killing us all to notice the architecture."

The barest flicker of a smile darted across her shadow-veiled face. "Regardless, that is why we are here. I believe in the circular nature of things, and it seemed only fitting that the place that first witnessed the commencement of our hatred should also be here to see its end."

That statement was practically dripping with potential threat, and was not something I wanted to hear while imprisoned and essentially defenseless. I tensed instinctively, drawing away from the bars, but was brought up short when Karai lifted a hand in a conciliatory gesture. "Do not fret. I wish to end our blood feud, but not through your death or those of your surviving kindred."

She walked back into the slanted spotlight of the halogen lamp and came to a halt in front of me. Once again a few careful steps beyond my reach, the Foot clan leader crossed her arms over her chest. "I am here to offer a truce, Raphael," she said, "and to suggest an alliance. The latter will be only temporary, but mutually beneficial, for it will help us to achieve something we both want."

"And that is?"

Karai's eyes narrowed at my skeptical question, and for an instant that nearly perfect mask of quietude fell away, replaced by a look of such raw hatred that I felt an odd chill of recognition.

"Revenge."

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_**AN:**__ Just so y'all know, 'kutabare, ikeike,' means 'fuck you, bitch' in Japanese. It isn't the most eloquent of phrases, I know, but blame Raph's potty mouth… and not me, the lowly authoress. (Bats eyes innocently)_


	17. Raphael: Landmines in the Path of Truth

**Fade **

_Chapter 17_

By Dierdre

Many thanks go out to the talented MB, who was kind enough to beta this chapter for me. You rock!

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_AN:__ (Lays flowers at her readers' feet) I am so very sorry it took me so long to update, chicos y chicas. Life wasn't treating me very well for a while, which meant that my muse went on vacation to get away from all the drama. :P _

_I will try my hardest to update more frequently from now on, although I won't carve that promise in stone. What I can pledge, however, is that I will __never__ abandon this story. It may take a while, but I will see 'Fade' through to completion. Scout's honor, gentle readers._

_Without further ado… on with the fic! I hope you enjoy. :)_

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Her simple reply was like a slap to the face, and before I even knew what I was doing, my left hand shot out with all stunning swiftness of a lightning strike.

My shoulder rammed against the confining bars and rattled them sharply in their foundations, making my fingertips tingle with phantom feeling as my hand stopped mere inches from her throat. I felt her startled breath wash over my knuckles in a sudden rush of warmth, and the nail on my index finger actually grazed the tip of her chin before my straining muscles reached their limit. Her wide eyes quickly narrowed and locked with my own, and for a timeless instant, we stood frozen in place, like a pair of contorted statues in Medusa's garden.

"Come one step closer, _kisama_," I finally rasped, breaking the spell, "and I'll have _my_ revenge."

"Your anger is understandable," she said tightly, "but it was your own stubbornness that brought you to this pass."

"You think I'm just pissed off about this fucking cage?" I slowly drew back my hand and curled my fingers around one of the metal bars, anger faltering for an instant in the face of honest astonishment. "Lady, you haven't even scratched the surface yet."

She tilted her head to one side, a single perfect eyebrow arching in a Lilliputian gesture of incomprehension. The last three months flashed unbidden across my mind with that small movement, streaming through in a tangled jumble of pained memories and bile-black emotions, and for a moment I nearly choked on the bitter desire to tell her everything. About the weeks spent trapped underground, entombed in a silence so vast and echoing that my mind would sometimes play tricks, tormenting me with the phantom click of my father's cane or a fragment of nonexistent laughter. About the scrap of Don's shell that I could hide in the palm of my hand, a little piece of my brother that I carried with me so I would feel less alone. How there were moments when reality would slip away, and when I turned my head to say something to Mikey, and he wasn't there, it stole my breath.

A needle of pain stabbed through my heart, constricting my chest and sending faint tremors across the skin of my hands, like the prelude to an earthquake. In an attempt to stave off a meltdown of Chernobyl proportions, I took a steadying breath and reached down reflexively, searching for my belt pouch and the bit of shell I knew resided within...

It should have come as no surprise when my hand encountered nothing, but a chill still shot through me like an injection of liquid nitrogen. On more than a subconscious level, I finally understood. She had taken it. Without hesitation or remorse, she had taken it, just as easily as she had snatched away the lives of nearly everyone stupid enough to love me. This stone-faced woman had stolen them from me, and with them had gone Leo's sanity, April's joy, my _life-_

Red mist swelled up to block my vision, and I went a little crazy after that.

I reared back, twisted sharply on my heel, and then flung myself at Karai with every ounce of strength I possessed. My carapace hit the bars with a clatter and the high-pitched shriek of distressed metal, jarring my bones and dousing my injured arm in little pinpricks of fire. Ignoring my body's distress with the ease of long practice, I hammered at my cage again, and again, bashing myself against it until the tortured sound of warping metal seemed poised to swallow the world. I was barely aware of the guttural cry that was ripping itself from my throat like an alien parasite; that wild, continuous howl of an animal driven mad by captivity, colliding with the bars of its prison until it beat itself to dea-

_-him last, no more than twenty feet from the spot where I had found Mikey entombed in rubble. A heavy beam that had once supported the roof, quickly followed by a shower of jagged concrete and gravel dust, had crushed his upper body. The combined weight of the debris was almost too much to shift, but since I sure as hell wasn't going to leave him behind, I located a solid length of metal piping and used it to lever away the worst of the concrete slabs. I then jabbed the pipe into a neighboring pile of debris and began to dig in earnest, tossing chunks of molded rock over my shoulder and shoveling away gravel with my hands._

_Once the rust-mottled support beam was unearthed, I closed my eyes against the sight that lay beneath it and blindly gripped the warm metal with my blood-slick hands. Flecks of white light darted behind my closed lids as I heaved with every ounce of strength my body possessed, and my arms felt as weak as cooked spaghetti when I finally lifted it a few inches above Master Splinter's body. I then swung the heavy metal ponderously to the side, where I let it fall with a loud thud that cracked a fallen slab in two._

_The muscles in my legs turned watery, and I fell to my knees with a small gasp, my arms hanging limply at my sides. I knelt there for a while, drawing in huge lungfuls of filthy air as I fought not to pass out from sheer exhaustion. A part of me wanted to remain like this forever, until the city fell into ruins and the earth patiently reclaimed what had been stolen from it, the wilderness returning to swallow me whole. That would be infinitely better than having to open my eyes, knowing that the first thing I would see was my father's broken body. _

_Ah, god, anything would be better…_

_In the end, it was the threat of capture that finally breathed purpose back into my beleaguered psyche. I was too far gone to care much about what would happen to me, but I knew that I had to get Leo and April away from this hell before the cops came. And I would be damned before I would let Splinter or Mikey be torn apart by a gaggle of eager scientists, their remains desecrated in the name of knowledge. _

_With a sigh that was half a sob, I slowly opened my eyes and rocked back on my heels, unfolding into a standing position with legs that trembled and shook. Feeling unreal, like a person trapped in a waking dream, I bent at the waist and carefully lifted Splinter into my arms. Dirt and gravel cascaded from his body like hard rain as I held him to my plastron and slowly turned, picking my way through the wreckage. I was breaking into a cold sweat and my heart seemed to have stopped beating, but I experienced very little emotion when I felt his crushed rib cage flex with an audible grating sound, like a broken accordion. _

_The only coherent thought running through my mind at that moment was a distant gratitude that Splinter had been spared the indignity of immolation. Casey hadn't been so lucky, and although his body didn't need to be hidden away like the rest of my family, I had still laid him out across the backseat of the Battle Shell. My friend had shielded April from the worst of the blast, and I refused to have his sacrifice belittled by letting the police connect him with the bombing. And so, even as I walked towards the rear door of our vehicle, my head was spinning with vague plans to return him to his empty apartment and open the valve that heated his stove. It should take only a few hours for the gas to fill the apartment and reach the pilot light…_

_This notion to make Casey's death look like an accident in an effort spare his mother further pain was nothing more than a stopgap measure, a pathetic attempt to distract myself from the grisly turn my life had taken. I clung to it with all the tenacity of a limpet, however, for I knew it was the only thing that kept me upright and walking, the only thing keeping me sane as I cradled my dead father in my arms like a child._

_I pushed the back door open wider with my shoulder, awkwardly crawled into the cab, and placed Master Splinter gently on the floor, positioning him between an unconscious Leo and the twisted heap of flesh that used to be Mikey. Still finding refuge in that strange sense of detachment, I wasted a moment brushing away the grime that matted his fur. I then straightened out his tattered robe with a reverence I had rarely showed him in life, and tugged at his collar in an effort to make it lie smoothly against his neck, like he preferred._

_I must have pulled too hard, however, for his head canted slightly forward, and I found myself staring straight into his lifeless eyes. Those brown orbs, usually so full of wisdom and quiet humor, were now as blank and pitiless as the dark side of the moon, their brightness dulled by a fine patina of gravel dust. All the air left my lungs in an explosive exhale as I watched blood dribble from between his teeth, exposed by a long muzzle trapped forever in a rictus grimace._

_I whirled around and flung myself out of the cab, falling to my hands and knees just as my stomach gave a violent heave. I vomited into the dirt as my body fought to expel everything I had ever eaten, as if by so doing it could purge the swelling grief from my body like a poison. It didn't work, and my face was dripping with sweat, vomit, and tears when I finally gave up, nothing left in me but misery and bile. _

_I collapsed bonelessly on my side, my muscles twitching spasmodically as my lungs shuddered in my chest, struggling to keep up as I tried to breathe and cry and scream all at once. I was faintly aware of the wail of sirens, distant but approaching rapidly, yet I couldn't bring myself to care. It only seemed to lend my voice new strength, the sounds of my anguish meshing in with their continuous keening to create an eerie funeral dirge. A lament for the dying, and the dead-_

The flashback ended as abruptly as it had begun, and when I came back to myself, I found that I had slumped against the side of my cage, kept upright only by one shoulder wedged between the bars. My mouth was lined with a thick coat of bitter saliva, forcing me to swallow hard to keep from vomiting as I shakily straightened my legs. I yanked my shoulder out from between the constricting bars, leaving a thin layer of skin behind as I glared balefully at Karai through a lingering haze of memory-fog.

At my sudden movement, she paused in the midst of dialing a number on her cell phone and gave me a speculative glance. When it became apparent that I had successfully anchored myself back in the here and now, she closed the device and quickly pocketed it. "Are you quite all right?"

"Just peachy," I growled in response, forcibly quelling the urge to turn my face away from those probing, inquisitive eyes. My spell of blind rage had passed, effectively snuffed out by the memory, leaving in its wake a vague feeling of nausea and a sense of humiliation that burned to the core. I'd let my anger get the best of me, and in doing so had exposed my Achilles' heel to the queen bitch of the Foot clan. I was batting a thousand tonight.

Suppressing a hiss as my wound gave a sudden, sharp twinge; I looked down listlessly at the bright spots of blood marring the dressing on my injured arm. The only things I'd gained from my little hissy fit were an aching shoulder and a couple of popped stitches. If we all managed to live though this, April was going to kill me.

The thought of her name somehow snapped my mind back into focus. I lifted my head and glared defiantly at Karai, my eyes filled with hate, and a told her exactly what I thought of her proposal. "After what you've done, you have the gall to suggest an alliance with me? Screw you, Karai. I'll see you in hell first."

For an instant, she had the audacity to look confused, as if she could not understand why I would reject her oh-so generous offer. But then, she suddenly stiffened, and I could almost see the light bulb flash to life above her head. "Now I understand. You believe I am the one who tampered with the bomb."

"Give the bitch a prize."

"And why, pray tell, would I commit such a heinous act?" she asked quietly. Her hands were slowly curling into fists at her sides, her gaze hooded with the promise of violence, but I was too far gone to pay attention to such obvious warning signs. All I knew was that I was finally getting a proper rise out of her, and so I plowed onward with an eager mockery that was rapidly approaching viciousness.

"Don't pretend like you don't know. Out of all of Saki's lapdogs, you were the one who had the most to gain from his death." I leaned forward to grip the bars, which were slightly bent from my earlier outburst, and continued in a low tone, "You've always chafed under dear ol' dad's rule, so when it became obvious that me and my brothers weren't going to kill him fast enough for your tastes, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

"It must have felt so good to see Saki leave on that last mission, knowing he'd never come back. If you hadn't had to keep cool so the others wouldn't suspect anything, you probably would've danced a fucking jig. The Foot clan would benefit from your leadership, after all, and it wasn't like he didn't deserve it." I paused for dramatic effect, savoring my small moment of revenge as I prepared to give the _coup de grace._ "Besides, he wasn't _really_ your father."

I had known Karai for nearly a decade, had fought against her and occasionally beside her in more battles than I could count, but never in all those years had I seen her move so fast. Her face turned ugly even as she darted forward so quickly she practically blurred, reaching through the cage with all the speed of an enraged cobra. I didn't even have time to flinch as her callused hand hooked the back of my neck in a granite grip and pulled sharply, ramming my head against the bars. I lashed out instinctively and grabbed her hand as a burst of incandescent light erupted behind my eyes, but I was too dazed to shift my grip into a proper hold. She managed to tear herself away with a boneless twist of her wrist, but I was gratified to hear a distinctive, muffled pop as her fingers slid through my numb grasp.

We separated violently and staggered backwards with twin gasps of pain. My vision swam as the floor tilted treacherously beneath my feet, and I would have fallen over if my shell hadn't hit the opposite side of the cage. My knees locked automatically, propping me upright as I blinked bemusedly at the two blurry figures in front of me, faces fixed in identical expressions of wrath. Something was wrong with this picture.

I shook my head rapidly and glared until the fuzziness faded away, sighing in relief when one woman merged with the other. One Karai was more than enough, in my opinion.

The whole altercation had lasted only a few seconds, but we were both feeling the consequences of our lack of control. We seemed to be equally determined not to show any further weakness, however, for in moments I was standing under my own power again, and I watched with indifference as Karai gripped her dislocated index finger and gave it a practiced tug. Her face whitened to an almost translucent shade of eggshell as the knuckle joint slid back into its socket, yet she didn't flinch or utter the slightest sound. If I had been inclined to ply my enemies with compliments, then I would have applauded her on her fortitude.

Flexing her hand experimentally, she lifted her head to meet my gaze. Her contorted expression had smoothed out as swiftly as the ripples on a pond, but her eyes were still muddied and dark with barely retrained rage.

"He was blood to me," she finally rasped, her voice thick with a kind of torment that I found all too familiar. "In every way that matters, he was my only kith and kin. I could have no more harmed him by treachery than you could have stabbed Splinter in his sleep."

My brows drew together at the mention of his name, and things might have degenerated further if a thin trickle of blood hadn't chosen that moment to trace a red line between my eyes. Momentarily distracted by this, I reached up and ran a finger across the shallow gash left by the rough metal bar that Karai had attempted to pull my head through. Although it had been fleeting, I slowly realized, for a moment Karai had well and truly lost her cool. That kind of knee-jerk reaction was almost impossible to fake, and for the first time doubt opened its wings and began to flutter experimentally through my mind.

"If it wasn't you," I grudgingly asked, "then who was it?"

"I am surprised you haven't figured it out yourself, _kame_, considering his unreasoning hatred for both your family and my father." That sentence had apparently come out harsher than she had intended, for she paused and stared at the ceiling, attempting to calm herself. After a moment, she lowered her gaze again and said coolly, "It was Stockman."

Snorting derisively, I wiped away the line of blood with my good arm. "I was this close to buying your bullshit, Karai. Mr. Brain-in-a-jar was evil, but Shredder'd had him on a short leash for nearly a decade. At the slightest hint of a double-cross, he would've known about it."

"That is true, but to the misfortune of us all, Stockman had help." Seemingly preparing herself for a long explanation, Karai sat back down on Jacob's chair and demurely crossed her legs. She then folded her hands over her bent knee, outwardly oblivious to way her injured digit had begun to stiffen and swell. "Do you remember Chaplin?"

"Yeah… that skinny redhead with the bad skin. Had a serious hard-on for the doctor."

"That is the one. Chaplin was a great admirer of Stockman's, despite the latter's lack of reciprocating sentiment, and he never approved of the systematic torture my father dolled out to ensure Stockman's obedience. Since his idol's previous flamboyant and often narcissistic treacheries had proven ineffective, it seems that Chaplin somehow convinced him to try something a little more subtle." As Karai spoke, the last vestige of anger had faded from her eyes. She once again seemed completely at ease, as if the musty dimness of the warehouse was nothing more than an illusion, and we were actually having a pleasant chat on a sun-dappled bench in Central Park. "Until that time Chaplin had proven himself to be impeccably loyal, which meant that he was not monitored as closely as some under my father's rule. He used this resulting freedom to build a new body for Stockman, one better suited to house the pitiful remnants of his flesh. After that, they played a waiting game, biding their time until an opportunity presented itself.

"As you well know, that opportunity came three months ago, inside a high-tech communications building that was undergoing repairs."

"The bomb."

Tiny crow's feet appeared at the corners of her eyes as Karai nodded, her manner turning grim. "By that time my father was well used to your family's uncanny ability to meddle in his affairs, and so he came up with a contingency plan to keep the brightest of you busy while his own techs hacked into the communications network. Chaplin built the bomb that appeared to meet my father's expectations, but was in actuality nothing more than a shell, containing a far more powerful incendiary device with no kill switch. Once Donatello discovered the treachery, it was far too late to stop what happened next."

I was usually the kind of skeptic that would ask God to see his I.D. card, so I was surprised to find the sharp edges of my animosity beginning to dull. Her words had a ring of truth to them, but I knew it was dangerous to let my guard down. Karai had been Saki's right hand for many years, both in affairs with the clan and with his legitimate dealings, so she was by necessity a master of duplicity. She'd play me like a fiddle if I let her.

With this thought at the forefront of my mind, I narrowed my eyes and attempted to trip her up. "That's all well and good, but just the where hell were you? I have a hard time believing that you were just an innocent bystander in all this."

"No. Hun and I were in my father's stronghold, mobilizing a unit of Foot soldiers to act as backup in case you and your family interfered. We would have been there within minutes if my father had made the call, but regrettably, Chaplin rendered that impossible. He jammed all incoming and outgoing signals in the building, and then used the resulting confusion to transfer Stockman to his new, incredibly powerful robotic body… which the 'good' doctor wasted no time in testing out." She paused in remembrance, her mouth tightening into a hard, white line. "I had helped to mold the Foot into some of the finest warriors in history, but our combined efforts barely made a dent in Stockman's metallic hide. We were decimated; mown down by hails of bullets and missiles, crushed beneath his feet and torn apart by his hands. He laughed as he was killing us. He _laughed_."

The chair made a gritty squeal against the concrete as Karai surged to her feet and stepped closer to my cage, careful to remain out of my reach. In her eyes was a look of almost electric intensity, as if she could compel my belief by the power of her gaze alone.

"Now do you see why it could not have been me? Even as my father and your family succumbed to fire, my clan was being slaughtered."

"So you say. If the Foot was butchered, then how did you survive?"

Some of the intensity diminished, but she showed no other outward dissatisfaction with my continued questioning. "It was Hun who saved me, ironically enough. We were working in tandem during the attack, in an effort to disable Stockman's shoulder-mounted missile launcher. Hun had managed to rip off a panel on the back of the weapon and was tearing out clumps of wiring as I kept Stockman's attention focused on me. I was only able to hold his interest for so long, however, before he grew impatient and dispatched me with a single swipe of his hand. The blow knocked the wind out of me and sent me flying into a shattered support beam, where I sustained the injury that marks my skin to this day."

With a calculated motion, she gripped the collar of her _dogi_ and pulled it slightly to the side, partially exposing the bright scar I had caught a fleeting glimpse of earlier. It looked even worse under the full light of the halogen lamp; the raw, jagged remnants of a wound that had torn across her torso like a lightning bolt, branding her skin forever with the memory of its passage.

I could feel the flesh beneath my collarbone tighten in unwilling sympathy. _Ouch…_

Once she was certain that I had gotten the full effect, she smoothed the cloth back into place and continued with her narrative. "As I lay bleeding beside my fallen soldiers, barely conscious and unable to move, I heard an enraged bellow and then the sound of tearing flesh. A moment later a crushing weight landed on top of me, rendering me immediately unconscious and hiding me from Stockman's merciless gaze. That was how my father's few remaining soldiers found me, hours later, nearly smothered under the weight of Hun's decapitated body."

With this charming mental image cycling through my brain like a movie reel, I lifted my head and spent a moment staring through the bars that topped my cage. Looking upward into a gloom that even the powerful halogen lamp could not penetrate, I let my lids fall in a long blink, feeling them scrape over my eyes like fine sandpaper. God, I was tired.

"Okay, let's assume for one moment that all this is true. Why wait until now to tell me? And why the cage?"

"The injuries I sustained in battle were severe, so I was under the care of my private physician for over a month before I could take up my duties as the new _jonin_ of the clan. It took nearly twice that long to return the clan to some semblance of order. As for your second question…" Her mouth curled into the barest of smiles, and there was irony in her eyes when she said, "I _did_ attempt to contact you by more peaceable means, as you may recall. But the time for action is drawing near, and when it became clear that you were disinclined to conversation, I was forced to take more drastic measures."

Launching arrows at my back and making me swan dive off a building didn't exactly fit with my definition of 'peaceable,' but I let it go in favor of satisfying a rising suspicion. "So let me guess: you've found Stockman."

"Correct. The doctor is an incredibly intelligent man, and therefore difficult to locate, but with a great deal of perseverance my operatives finally found him. He has built for himself a new, state-of-the-art facility at an abandoned dock on the New Jersey waterfront, complete with a staff of morally deficient scientists and a small army of mercenaries as his personal bodyguards."

"Sounds pretty hopeless."

"Until recently, it was. It took weeks of in-depth background checks and surveillance before we found one of Stockman's scientists who would be susceptible to bribery. Once we had our mole, however, everything else fell into place in an almost serendipitous fashion." That creepy light had returned to her eyes, and it became obvious that the massacre of our kindred had marked her in more ways than one. Karai had the look of a fanatic about her now, and her craving for retribution was so strong it seemed to rise from her body like steam. "We can beat him, Raphael, and put our families' souls to rest."

My eyes narrowed as I absorbed the subtext in her words, which contained a hint of disquiet that she couldn't entirely hide. "There's still a problem, though, isn't there?"

"Very astute." Karai crossed her arms over her chest, and I saw her nostrils flare in a quiet sigh. "The problem is a basic one. Most of my clan's veteran soldiers were killed during Stockman's attack, and while I have been recruiting more at a furious pace, most are like Jacob. Talented, but inexperienced. Unblooded."

"And that's where I come in."

"Yes. I had hoped for Leonardo's assistance, as well, but since he is currently… indisposed, you will have to do."

"Flattery will get you flattened, Karai," I deadpanned, scowling when she had the nerve to look amused at my response. Bitch. "And how will my help make a difference in this mysterious revenge plot of yours?"

"Your worth has been proven in countless battles against my father," she said impatiently, "so do not pretend at modesty. Even after all that has happened, your skills are on par with mine. When the time comes, your presence could very well tip the scales between victory and defeat."

Well, didn't that just make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside?

Rolling my eyes in an eloquent gesture, I asked, "So are you going to let me in on the plan?"

"No, not yet. First, I must know where you stand on this. Will you help? Are you with me?"

Her gaze was so intent that it seemed she expected to find the verdict etched into my forehead like a tattoo. I was usually pretty quick on the draw when it came to this kind of thing, but this was one of the few times in my life when I didn't have a damn clue about the right path to take. In the last two days I had been stabbed, bled out, stitched up, drugged, kidnapped, imprisoned, and force-fed a truckload of information from a person of questionable veracity. Despite my forced siesta, I was so tired my eyes were crossing, and my skull seemed to be stuffed with cotton wool. I needed a long nap and some time to think before I could trust myself to make even a halfway intelligent choice.

I met her unblinking stare with one of my own and sighed, absently running a hand over my blood-splotched bandage. In my next life, I was going to be an accountant. Accountants didn't have to make these kinds of decisions.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully.

Karai's shoulders slumped a little, but she didn't appear to be surprised by my response. "Then an explanation will have to wait."

Dropping to one knee in a motion that epitomized grace, the Foot clan leader reached into a side pocket on April's bag and pulled out a length of red cloth, stained and fraying at the ends from years of hard use. She then straightened and took two deliberate steps forward, walking into my strike range and holding out my bandanna. This show of trust threw me; enough so that I couldn't think of anything snide to say as I reached out and mutely pulled it from her grasp.

"Go home," she said, her voice almost gentle, "and mull over all that I have told you. Find Stockman's stronghold if you wish, although if you want to live I would not recommend a solo infiltration. Search your heart for the answer, and then come to the Marble Cemetery at dusk two nights hence. I will await your decision there."

I contemplatively ran my thumb over the tiny lock picks sewn into the cloth as she withdrew to a safe distance. Seeming to dismiss me from her mind, she turned away without another word and stepped out of the ring of light. My head shot up and I snapped, "What about my family?"

Karai stopped and turned, her form swallowed in darkness but for the red slash of her headband and the pale, half-moon curve of a high cheekbone. "No matter how tempting the prospect, I will not hold them hostage as an insurant to your obedience. You will find them in your lair, safe and unharmed."

She made another move to leave, and I delivered a ringing slap to one of the bars to get her attention. "Wait a damn minute… that's it? After all this, you're just going to let us go?"

A thin laugh trickled out of the gloom, rusty from disuse and filled with an emotion so complex I could not even begin to decipher it. "There is one thing about me that you always seem to forget, Raphael. I am my father's daughter, but I am _not_ him."

My hand tightened around the cloth as she fell silent, and I twitched when the unseen door slammed shut with a corroded squeal that nearly made my ears pop. I let loose a strangled sigh that was a potent mixture of confusion and annoyance, before hooking a nail under the head of one of the lock picks and carefully pulling it free from the minute stitching. I crouched at the door to my cage and threaded my arms through the bars, gripping the oversized padlock with my right fist. My hands were shaking from fatigue and lingering blood loss, but the lock was an old-fashioned model and relatively easy to jimmy open. I was free inside five minutes, straightening painfully as the door swung wide on well-oiled hinges.

I paused at the threshold and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of stagnant rainwater and neglected concrete as I cautiously scanned my surroundings. Aside from the distant, eternal honk of car horns, I was enveloped in silence, and after a few moments, I let myself relax a little. Either my ninjitsu training had abandoned me entirely, or I was finally alone.

Tying my bandanna around my head in a motion so practiced and familiar it required no thought, I snagged the abandoned backpack and dropped it on Jacob's chair. Unzipping it and parting the stiff fabric, I was unable to keep my mouth from dropping open at the sight of my clothing, belt and weaponry, tucked neatly atop the shattered bits of April's laptop. Not quite believing it, I grabbed my belt and fastened it around my waist, and then pulled out the fragment of Don's shell. I ran my thumb over the rough edges and stared at it for a long moment, feeling the tension seep out of me like an unplugged drain, before gently replacing it in its accustomed pouch.

My hands didn't tremble at all when I reached into the pack a moment later and belted my sais. I wrapped my clothing around April's kunai and the loose computer parts, effectively silencing the rattle as I swung the pack over my good shoulder. Gingerly looping my injured arm through the remaining strap, I walked out of the halo of illumination and into the surrounding black, my lips thinned with resolve and a strange calm.

I still didn't know what to think about Karai's story or her bizarre proposal, but the fact remained that the Foot clan knew where we lived now. It killed a little something inside of me to do it, but until I could puzzle all this out, I knew there was no other choice. It wasn't safe for us anymore.

We had to abandon the lair.


	18. Raphael: Borrowed without Permission

**Fade **

_Part 18_

By Dierdre

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_**AN:**__ At long last, gentle readers, I have posted the next chapter to this little tale. I beg your forgiveness for the freakishly long wait, I hope you enjoy, and please feel free to point out any grammar errors or fiddly bits I might have missed. :)_

_**AN (Part 2):**__ Many thanks go out to the glorious __**Reinbeauchaser**__, who kindly pointed out a few discrepancies in this chapter. No major changes, really, although I did add a few paragraphs in the middle of the chapter. Domo arigato, Rein-san! (Bows low)

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I gripped the filter in my teeth and snapped open my Zippo. Wrinkling my nose against the sharp smell of butane, I closed my eyes, protecting my night vision as I flicked the striker and lit the cigarette with the distinctive sound of crackling tobacco leaves. The smoke burned its way down my throat in a pleasant fire, and I could feel the tightness in my chest ease almost immediately. With a contented sigh that forced fine tendrils of smoke from between my teeth, I pocketed the lighter and used my good hand to lever myself up and over the high rooftop barricade.

The metal fire escape barely creaked as I landed on the highest balcony, although I paid for the drop in the form of sharp twinges that peppered my injured forearm. Freezing out of habit, I peered over my shoulder and surveyed at the window just inches behind my shell. I waited for nearly a full minute before allowing myself to relax, confident that the faded blue shades would not part to reveal a curious face.

Removing the cigarette from my mouth, I flicked away a column of ash with a quick tap of my thumb. I exhaled a plume of smoke and watched as ribbons of milky white coiled toward the sky like tiny dragons, before shredding themselves into oblivion.

The air was unusually still tonight, heavy with the smell of ozone and electric with the promise of a coming storm. A low ceiling of clouds loomed just above the tops of the surrounding buildings, colored a sickly reddish-yellow by the eternal city lights. Distantly, thunder rumbled; an ominous sound in the unnatural stillness, like the Devil clearing his throat.

It was a night that was primed for sin, an irresistible temptation for those who lived in shadow and stepped lightly around the law. A fact that seemed terribly apropos, since I was about to commit a crime.

A final drag of my cigarette yielded nothing but the sick taste of the fiberglass filter, so I flicked the butt into the alleyway. As it impacted the far wall and dropped out of sight, trailing a comet's tail of golden sparks, I swung April's backpack off my shoulder and set it at my feet. Crouching down, I carefully unwound my clothing from the jumble of weaponry and smashed computer parts. I dressed as quickly as I could, tugging the hood over my head and grimacing at the unpleasant, scratchy feeling of the cloth around my neck. How humans could stand being constricted like this all the time, I had no idea.

Once again shouldering the backpack, I began to descend the fire escape, testing each step with care before daring to put my weight on it. Although it was still dark outside, it was not so early that I could count on everyone in the apartment complex to be asleep. With my luck, all it would take would be one metallic creak, and the only insomniac in the building would hear it and sound the alarm. I wasn't worried about being caught, but my task would be nearly impossible to complete if I had to waste time dodging the cops.

I paused at the last level on the fire escape, pressing my side against the brickwork next to the windowsill. The window was open a crack, and I nearly fell off the balcony when someone unseen let out an explosive snore. Feeling my heart pound out a drum solo in my chest, I gripped my sais through the holes in my sweater pockets and willed myself to calm down. Christ, I was jumpy as hell tonight.

When my muscles unknotted enough to let me move, I let out a steadying breath and stretched over the rail, peering passed the edge of the building. The street on either side of me was deserted, almost preternaturally still, with no wind to stir the trash or to ruffle the flags hanging from the light poles like forgotten Christmas garlands. The only sign of life was a piebald cat, which slunk wraithlike down the middle of the street. Even as my gaze settled on it, the cat stopped and crouched; nine pounds of ratty fur and coiled intensity. Slowly, its head turned, and it fixed me with unblinking, demon-bright eyes.

An odd chill traced a line down my spine, and I shrank back, letting the deep shadows hide my form. When I looked back a moment later, the cat was gone.

Feeling like a fool, I cursed under my breath and reached into one of my belt pouches, fishing out a shuriken. With my left hand, I absently walked the sharp weapon over the tops of my fingers and stared across the street. My target was a long-term parking lot, framed on three sides by the EZ Storage building, and protected street side by a high chain link fence. The gate was padlocked twice over, and a small security camera, bolted into the left corner of the lot and nearly hidden in shadow, panned sedately from side to side

I shook my head at this elaborate setup. There just wasn't any trust in the world anymore.

The hidden sleeper let out another window-rattling snore; a subtle reminder for me to cut the crap and get down to business. Without further ado, I shifted my grip on the throwing star, drew back my hand and flicked my wrist expertly, sending it whirring through the air like a partridge.

Accompanied by the sharp crack of breaking plastic, I dropped the last story into the trash-strewn alley, barely feeling it when the concrete ground into my callused heels. April's backpack was sandwiched between my shell and the wall as I pressed myself against the brickwork, waiting tensely for the tinkle of falling glass to die away. The noise seemed so loud in the quiet street that I half expected to hear the rustle of a parting curtain, or the sound of a sleepy human voice raised in alarm.

When only the rumble of thunder and the sound of distant traffic met my ears a full minute later, I took a deep breath and bolted across the road. I reached the fence in seconds and used the momentum of my run to leap up, hooking my hands and feet into the top links. Before the fencing had a chance to rattle and shake, I launched myself away, landing for an instant on the hood of a black SUV before dropping silently to the ground.

A muted clatter of settling chain link sounded at my back as I ran in front of a long line of parked cars, plucking my shuriken from the mangled camera before the noise petered out. Pocketing the weapon and simultaneously dropping to the ground, I pressed my shell against the side of a rust-streaked Buick. I waited a full minute before daring to move again, but caution still kept me low to the ground as I began to thread my way through the cars.

Simply breaking a window would attract too much attention, both now and on the road, and my lock picks weren't designed to open a car door. Left with only one other option, I began to cautiously test door handles, sticking to early model cars in the hope that I wouldn't set off an alarm. The thunder growled its disapproval of my search, and the wind picked up as the storm began to gallop towards me on iron-shod feet, kicking up sparks of bright lightning.

I could all but taste the rain on my tongue when I finally hit pay dirt. The fifth door I tried opened with a faint rasp, and I immediately slid into the driver's seat. I silently thanked the owner for their neglect as I eased the door of the pastel blue station wagon shut.

The air inside was thick with the smell of disuse, and I couldn't help but snort at the sight of the Hello Kitty air freshener, dangling ineffectually from the rear view mirror. Not exactly the most glamorous get-away car, but I'd take what I could get.

As if responding to the sound of my amusement, there was a deafening clap of thunder from directly overhead, and the flash of lightning that preceded it had not yet died away when the sky split open. Fat droplets of rain began to ping off the windshield, slowly at first, but rapidly picking up speed. In the span of a few moments, sheets of water were sliding down the glass like a miniature waterfalls, distorting my view of the parking lot.

The storm would be helpful in masking my movements, but it was also a double edged sword, because the pounding rain was rendering me blind and deaf to the outside world. It made me nervous as hell, so I wasted no time sliding back the driver's seat so I would have more room to maneuver.

Wrapping my good hand around the steering wheel, I curled my wounded arm against my plastron and awkwardly pulled my right leg up, pressing my heel against the worn leather on the other side. My steadying breath was drowned out by a crack of thunder, and its echoes were still ricocheting between the buildings when I threw all my weight into my right leg.

The wheel screeched and shifted noticeably to the side, and I quickly pushed with the palm of my hand, forcing the wheel towards the driver's side door. The steering column groaned and creaked as I repeated this motion again and again, the vehicle rocking like a senior's car on Prom night. I looked like a pretzel and felt like a fool, and I swear I could hear the ghostly voice of Mikey, laughing at me from beyond the grave. Too bad he wasn't here with me now, so I could smack him a good one.

After nearly a full minute of this, my tired muscles were beginning to spasm and weaken. I was about ready to give it up as a bad job, when-

_CRACK_

The sound of the breaking steering lock was like a gunshot in the closed confines of the car, and I let out a curse as my heel slipped off the wheel and slammed against the dash. The volume knob popped explosively off the FM radio and ricocheted off my shoulder, before vanishing into the back seat. The knob actually stung a little, and I muttered uncomplimentary things about its ancestry as I straightened in the seat.

Stage one complete. Next on the agenda: actually starting the damn thing.

I reached down, stretching out my arms until my forehead was pressed uncomfortably against the steering wheel. For a short eternity, my insensitive fingertips scrabbled uselessly beneath the steering column, but my persistence was finally rewarded when I hooked a fingernail on the edge of the cowling. The plastic was old and brittle from many years of sun exposure, so it took only a few quick tugs to rip the protective sheath away. With the ignition column fully exposed, I tossed the length of cowling into the backseat to keep company with the volume knob.

The storm pounded a million watery fists against the roof as I brushed the back of my fingers against the ignition barrel, feeling my way downwards until I encountered the ignition cap. With my right hand on the cap, I reached behind my belt and found the largest pouch, which contained an essential tool for every Ninja on the go. A Leatherman Core, battered and scratched from years of hard use.

Pulling the tool open with my teeth, I folded it back to expose the pliers, and then prized the cap off with a grunt of effort. Flipping the cap over my shoulder like an oversized coin, I closed the Leatherman again and levered out a flat-head screwdriver from the side, hearing the tinny click as it locked into place. I found the groove at the end of the ignition barrel and inserted the screwdriver blade into it, pressing firmly until the Leatherman could hang without support.

Drawing back my left hand, I rammed the heel of my palm against the base of the tool, forcing the screwdriver deep into the ignition barrel. I smacked it twice more, just for good measure, and then curled my aching fingers around the Leatherman's handle. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Truth time.

In the end, it was all rather anticlimactic. It only took a single twist of the handle to make the engine sputter, cough alarmingly, and then roar to life with a sound like an incontinent lion. I indulged in a little 'Ha!' of triumph, before opening the car door and venturing out into the howling dark.

The rain lashed at my eyes and face, falling so hard and fast that it felt like needles against my skin. By the time I reached the gate, my clothes were soaked through, forcing me to fight with the loose, dripping cloth to get to my belt. With my eyes squinted almost shut against the rain, struggling to breathe as the wind forced tiny droplets of water passed my lips and down my throat, I extracted another shuriken.

I ignored the pricy combination locks completely, and instead used the razor-thin edge of the weapon to prize the linchpins out of the gate hinges. The last pin dropped to the soggy concrete even as the wind ripped the gate from my hands and slammed it against the chain link fence. Still held upright by the useless padlocks, the gate rapped repeatedly against the fence, as if to drown out the storm with its own desperate groans and clatter.

Spurred by this clanking, an audible reminder of the crime I was committing, I spun on my heel and ran back to the car. I slammed the door shut, put the car into drive and hit the gas, peeling out of the parking lot with rather more speed than was necessary. The station wagon roared down the street with the windshield wipers running furiously, and it was only when I nearly hit a street lamp that I thought to turn on the headlights.

This near miss was enough for me to remember caution. I fought the urge to punch the gas pedal through the floorboards, and had almost gotten the vehicle to a reasonable speed by the time I reached one of the main roadways. I kept my head bowed and the sodden hood low over my forehead as the occasional car passed me in the opposing lane, their headlights turning the rivulets of water on my windshield into ribbons of pale gold.

As the EZ Storage lot faded into memory, the adrenalin in my veins drained away, taking with it most of my body heat. I was beginning to shiver hard, and my teeth chattered audibly as I reached out with my right hand, cranking the heater up to full blast. The heating system worked like a dream, and within five minutes the air inside the station wagon was like a sauna, drawing moisture from my clothing in tiny wisps of steam.

Slowly but surely, my muscles began to warm, and my shivering slowed nearly to a stop. I automatically reached into my belt pouch for a cigarette… only to discover that the rain had insinuated itself into the supposedly waterproof pocket, soaking the cigarette pack so badly that it began falling apart in my hand. With a heartfelt curse, I tossed the sodden clumps of tobacco into the backseat. I was born under a bad star, I swear to fucking God.

Without the soothing rush of nicotine, I was instead forced to concentrate on other things. Such as the knot of worry in my gut, and the ember of guilt that was even now burning a hole in my chest.

This wasn't my first encounter with Grand Theft Auto. I had stolen a car once before, over three years ago, while Casey lounged in the passenger's seat, doling out pointers and generally making a nuisance of himself. Since the car had belonged to a drug dealer who got his jollies by roughing up his female clients, however, I didn't think it counted.

But _this_ vehicle had probably belonged to a decent person, some upstanding citizen whose life would now be the poorer because of my actions. It didn't matter that the theft had been necessary; I could still hear my father's reproving voice, and see the disappointment in his eyes.

The Hello Kitty air freshener dipped and fluttered under the onslaught of the heating vents, and the sight of it made my hands tighten on the wheel in a sudden fit of anger. Damn Karai. This was all her fault.

The building where Karai had set up our enforced chitchat had been located halfway across the city from my home. It would have taken me hours to get back to the lair via the sewers, and even longer if I had taken the winding rooftop route. I'm sure this had been the real reason behind her choice, for it would have given me plenty of time to think about her proposal. And since I would've arrived a little before dawn, it would have had the added benefit of trapping us there for another day, where her goons could keep a watchful eye on us.

Problem was; I had no intention of dancing to her tune. I was going to get my family away tonight, come hell or high water, and taking a car she and her cronies had no knowledge of was my best chance to do that. The Battle Shell would have been my preferred choice, but it was too well-known by the Foot Clan, and would stick out like a sore thumb when we left the city and finally hit the highways. I didn't trust her not to have planted a tracking device somewhere on the vehicle, too.

There was one other pressing motivation for me to commandeer the station wagon. Leo and April were still being guarded by those who had little reason to wish them well, and the only thing keeping them safe was the order of Karai; former patsy and now fledgling dictator. Knowing that, I wouldn't have been able to run across the city on foot, with their faces flashing for hours behind my eyes, taunting me with the knowledge that I still had so much left to lose. I would have run myself into exhaustion, and driven myself batshit crazy.

Heh… Not like that was a long trip for me, anyways.

Even with the added speed the car gave me, I was still halfway to Crazytown by the time I hit the street a block from my home. I maintained enough presence of mind to turn the steering wheel and swing the car into a narrow alley so steeped in gloom it felt like I had been struck blind. Turning off the engine and yanking the Leatherman from its ignition column sheath, I pocketed the tool and was out of the car in a flash.

Sharp-edged emotions assaulted my mind and lent speed to my feet as I flitted from shadow to shadow, making my way down the rain-damp road with all the swiftness of a terrified ghost. The need for home and family was so pressing I could barely breathe around it, but I forced myself to use caution for the same reason I had stashed the car. I didn't know what lay ahead for me, and it was entirely possible that a guard was stationed somewhere near the warehouse, lying in wait to warn those inside of my return. The only advantages I had were a stolen vehicle and the element of surprise, and I wasn't going to give up either until I was good and ready.

It seemed like an eternity, but in truth only a few minutes had passed before my feet touched down on the gravel pathway in front of the warehouse. Unable to help myself, I ran the last few feet and kicked open the painted metal door with a flair that would've made Clint Eastwood proud, my weapons at the ready and murder on my mind. The metal door hit the wall with a sound like thunder as I ducked into the waiting gloom. Framed by the wane light outside, I spent a long moment with my senses stretched to the breaking point, seeking out the telltale signs of intrusion. The place felt empty and as deserted as a tomb, which was assurance enough for me to begin moving forward cautiously.

The Battle Shell was nothing more than a looming shadow at my back as I inched blindly to the elevator, using years of memory to guide my steps. My groping hand found the elevator button, and I tapped it with the pommel of my sai. I couldn't help but wince as the car shuddered up the shaft in a chorus of grinding gears, effectively killing whatever small chance I had at catching those below off guard. There was no help for it, though, so I merely held my weapons in a white-knuckled grip and stood off to the side, waiting tensely for the doors to open.

When they did, I was nearly blinded by the light that spilled from the opening, and I had to suppress a hiss as my pupils contracted with painful swiftness. I blinked the pain away, and it took only a cursory glance to see that the car was unoccupied. I ventured into that emptiness, my stomach doing a little lurch as the elevator jerked shut and began its halting way down.

The interior was small and utterly without ornamentation, so when the doors opened I would be about as exposed as a flasher in Central Park. I couldn't bring myself to get too concerned about it, though. The events of the past few hours had rasped across my psyche like a cheese grater, leaving me exhausted, twitchy and not a little pissed off. Pounding someone's face in right now would be as soothing to my frayed nerves as a balm.

I threw back my hood and shifted into a fighting stance when the elevator ground to a halt. Keeping my center of gravity low, my muscles coiled and eager for violence, I felt my lips peel back into a snarl as the door let out a grumble of protest and began to slide open. I had one brief glimpse of the living room, its battered furniture nothing but indistinct shadows in the dimness, before instinct sang along my nerve endings and took possession of my body.

I threw myself forward, crouching almost to the ground as a bright shard of metal whirred furiously overhead and buried itself into the wall behind me. I sprang to my feet like a scalded cat, pressing myself against the side of the elevator car and using the pitiful edge of the doorframe as cover. Smiling in grim pleasure at what was about to come, I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet and prepared to dive into the fray…

Only to pause when my gaze flicked over to the shuriken, half-buried in the thin metal and still vibrating slightly from the impact. The weapon was shaped in a distinctive three-pronged style, a twin to the pair that had been displayed in the dojo for the better part of a decade. And it had been thrown high, well above head height for the average human. A warning shot, I belatedly realized. Not something that the Foot clan usually indulged in.

The sudden laugh that rumbled in my chest felt like release, and the sound of it was still reverberating in the narrow confines of the elevator car when I belted my weapons and stepped fully into view. I lifted my hands in mock surrender as a voice called out from the gloom ahead, sounding high, frightened and blessedly familiar.

"Move and you're… _Raph_?"

A shadowy form rose awkwardly from its hiding place behind the couch, revealing a disheveled mop of red hair and a pair of wide green eyes. "Hell of an identity crisis if I ain't," I said wryly.

The second shuriken dropped from April's right hand, hitting the floor with a metallic clatter as I stepped out of the elevator and began walking towards her. She blinked once, her mouth gone slack with shock, before emitting a high-pitched, joyous squeal that was solely a woman's sound. Seeming to forget about her body's limitations, she planted her good foot on the sofa cushions and attempted to scramble over the back of the couch. She might have actually succeeded, but her leg brace caught on a rip in the fabric and threw her off balance.

She tumbled off the back, destined for a rather magnificent face plant, but was brought up short when I surged forward and caught her around the waist. My wounded arm twinged in silent rebuke as I helped her regain her footing, but I had little time to notice, for I was suddenly far too busy trying to breathe as April threw her arms around my neck and hugged me hard.

Dignity is a difficult thing to maintain with a hundred and ten pounds of sobbing, laughing woman hanging from your shoulders like a necklace, but I found that I didn't mind too much. I gave up trying to make sense of the rapid string of words she was babbling in my ear and simply hugged her back, allowing myself to enjoy the warmth of her. She looked terrible, and her clothes were rank with the smell of stale fear-sweat, but she was alive and seemed relatively unharmed. Considering what we had just survived, that was nothing short of a miracle.

The timbre of her voice changed, and I focused back in just in time to hear her say, "-wouldn't speak to me at all. One of them got a phone call about two hours ago, and they left without a word of explanation. I… I didn't know where you were, or how to find you." She loosened her death grip on my neck and looked at me, her eyes just inches from my own. "What's going on, Raph? What did Karai want with you?"

"I'll tell you later," I said, pulling away from her. "Right now, I want you to go to the kitchen and sit down. I'll follow in a second."

April hesitated, obviously reluctant to leave my side, but after a moment she nodded. She turned on her heel and walked away, the sound of her clanking brace ricocheting off the walls in tinny echoes, and disappeared into the dark heart of kitchen. Rounding the couch as the sounds died away, I crouched down at Leo's side.

The sight of him sent shock down my spine in an unpleasant ripple. Considering his mental state, it seemed logical that April and I would have received the lion's stare of anxiety and fear tonight. Just goes to prove that logic doesn't mean much when it comes to people, because Leo looked like hell.

He was still in the same spot I had left him in --seated in the Lotus position on the floor with his shell pressed against the arm of the couch--, but that is where the resemblance to my brother from a few hours ago ended. The twitching of his hands had once been a gentle thing, barely noticeable unless you looked for it, but now they trembled, hard enough that I could the edges of his arms blurring to the elbows. His eyes were still an empty void, but the skin around them had darkened to the sickly color of bruised pine needles. His temples were streaked with lines of dark sweat, and his breath was hitching in a way that worried me. If I were to clap my hands in front of his face right now, he'd probably go into shock.

I felt the beginnings of a growl rumble in my chest as I watched him fight a desperate, internal battle, but I tamped it down for his sake. The need to escape before daylight trapped us was still a pressing worry, but thanks to Karai and her lackeys' lack of bedside manner, that would have to wait.

I reached out and touched his hand, feeling awkward and painfully aware of futility of it all. "Hey, Leo, it's me. You can relax now; the Foot are gone. We're safe, for the moment, at least."

Leo's fingers spasmed under my palm, but it was the only indication that he had heard my voice. His trembling seemed to have actually gotten worse, and I was beginning to worry that we had a real problem on our hands. If I wasn't able to get him calmed down and manageable soon, it would be too late to leave the city before day break. The thought of being trapped here in the violated sanctity of our home, pinned like moths on a corkboard to be scrutinized at Karai's leisure, brought with it the pale echo of an emotion not dissimilar to Leo's own fear. I knew I had to do something quick to snap him out of it, but the real kick in the crotch was that I didn't have a clue what. Even before the explosion, I sucked when it came to doling out comfort; nowadays, I was pretty much useless. I could barely keep my own self emotionally afloat, much less anyone else.

Ah, hell, might as well be honest with myself, at least. Between the flashbacks, blackouts, and my uncanny ability to turn myself into a living shish-kabob, I was a freaking train wreck. I was no longer playing with a full deck, the wheel was still turning, but the hamster was dead… whatever damn cliché you wanted to use.

My depressive thoughts faltered as I felt the first glimmerings of an idea. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and lacking a less embarrassing option, I had no choice but to try a different approach.

Carefully, so as not to startle him, I reached out with my good hand and hooked the back of his neck. I drew him forward and gently touched my forehead against his. It was a gesture my brothers and I had often used as children, before the tapestry of our lives became too woven with threads of pride and petty jealousies for such things.

"I know you've got to work this shit out on your own, bro," I said quietly. "I've been stuck with you long enough to get that."

My lip curled into a ghost of a smile, which faded quickly as I forced an intensity into my tone that stopped just short of a command. "But now I need you to focus long enough to hear me. The Foot clan followed April and found out where we lived. You and April were held here while I was taken to have a little chat with Karai. We talked about a lot of shit-- yelled, actually-- but the gist of it is this: she claims not to have had anything to do with the bomb, but she knows who did. She has a plan to stop him, but she needs my help."

I pulled back my head and looked at him, my hand still gripping the back of his neck. "I didn't know what to make of her story, and I told her as much. She just let me go, and told me I had two days to make my decision. I still don't trust her, but… hell, she might be on the level this time."

I let my head drop from his neck and ran my fingers over the sleeve that covered my blood-spotted bandage. The move must have sparked something within him, for his eyes lost their thousand-yard stare. He blinked rapidly, and his expression tightened into one of puzzlement, as if nagged by an elusive memory. That clouded look was soon swept away, however, when his eyes snapped up to my face. His trembling stopped suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch, and his spine unbent into his familiar ramrod straight posture. Swallowing hard, he croaked, "Ototo…"

If I hadn't been so tired, I might have jumped up and danced a jig. Fortunately for me and my shredded dignity, I had to settle for a shit-eating grin as I touched his hand again, feeling his fingers grip my own like a lifeline. He had responded to me, and I didn't even have to stab myself this time. If that wasn't progress, I didn't know what was.

"Got it in one, Leo. The brother thing is in the bag. So how about my name?" I asked encouragingly. "Do you remember it?"

He couldn't have looked more clueless if I had spoken in tongues, but I didn't let it concern me. I could still see the insanity writhing like a parasite beneath his skin, but for now his eyes tracked mine and he found solace in the sound of my voice. It was enough.

"Nevermind, bro. We'll work on that later. Right now, I need you to pay close attention to what I'm saying. We're okay, and we're all together again." I paused, and then shook my head. "Problem is, I don't know how long that's going to last. Our home is no longer secret, and it is no longer safe. We have to leave."

His hand jerked convulsively from mine, and he flinched as if he had been slapped. His mouth worked, but he didn't seem capable of forming the right words. A low, animalistic whine bubbled up in his throat, and he shook his head repeatedly in a fit of frustration and denial.

Fearing that I was losing him, I gripped him by the shoulders and shook him once, hard. Teeth clicking together as his head snapped back, the whine stopped as abruptly as it begun. Leo blinked rapidly and met my eyes again, his expression equal parts distress and reproof.

I released my grip on him and sighed. Leave it to Leo. Even when he was a few bricks shy of a load, he could still make me feel like an asshole.

"Sorry," I growled. "But all the reproachful looks in the world aren't going to change the fact that I'm right. Karai may be on the up and up, but I wouldn't trust her lackeys with my spit. I need room to breathe and time to think, but I can't do that here, not when I'll be constantly looking over my shoulder. We're way too exposed here, and I refuse to drive myself crazy worrying about the two of you."

I ran my hand over the top of my head and tugged at the knot on my bandanna, wincing a little when the stitches pulled. "This place ain't exactly the Ritz, but it's our home. One way or another, we'll take it back. I promise you that, Leo. _I swear it_. But for now, I need you to be calm and go with me on this. Trust me, okay?"

There was a long pause, and I was beginning to worry that he had checked out for the night, but eventually he shifted and let out a long, wavering sigh. The undamaged side of his mouth twitched, and then curved into a lopsided smile that made my heart spasm in my chest.

"Always," he said hoarsely.

I don't know what I might have said in response to that, but Leo ended up solving the problem for me. As I swallowed hard and tried to remember how to breathe, his shoulders slumped and relaxed, taking on that rounded look that had grown familiar in the past month. Within the span of a few heartbeats, he had slipped back into his own private world with hardly a ripple.

I snapped my fingers in front of his face, hoping against hope for a reaction, but the vacant look in his eyes never changed. The lights were on, but no one was home. Again.

I wanted to kick his ass for leaving me again, and I wanted to cry for the exact same reason. I did neither, but instead rocked back on my heels and stood with the muffled sound of popping joints. Turning my back on him, I headed for the kitchen, rubbing a hand across my neck in an effort to loosen the knot in my throat.

I was so distracted by this that I didn't notice the figure hovering at the entrance until I almost passed her. I paused and sighed, more weary than irritated, and said, "Are all women this nosey, or is it just you?"

April ducked her head in embarrassment, but made no move to abandon her leaning position against the kitchen archway. Her expression was an odd mix of emotions, guilt and humor pureed in a blender, and it showed in her voice when she replied, "I think you guys just got lucky."

The only clever response I could come up with involved the liberal use of curse words, so I just bit my tongue and brushed passed her. I opened the pantry and shoveled aside a jumbled pile of canned goods, packages of old pasta and an ancient loaf of bread with my good arm. After a moment, I found what I was looking for: Don's old duffel bag, which he had long ago emptied and left among the cans for just such an occasion.

Yanking it from the pile and sending a can of stringed beans rolling passed my foot, I unzipped the bag and set it down by the pantry door. It was the work of a moment to drag one of the dining room chairs beside the bag, and then I crooked a finger at April and gestured to the seat. "I don't know how long we'll be gone, so I want to pack as much food as you can into the bag. Be quick about it, but for God's sake, don't try to lift it when you're done. Just leave it there and come get me."

April approached the chair cautiously, as if it were some strange and possibly dangerous animal. She ran her hand over the chair back, grimacing a little when the dim light caught the sick sheen of blood and worse dried into the glove. After a moment, she gave me a sideways look and said, "Do we really have to leave?"

Her voice was tinged with an edge of sadness, and I sighed for the second time in as many minutes. Why was this so hard to understand? "Look, April, I like this even less than you do, but it's not like we have much of a choice. You were listening in on my conversation, so you _know_ why we have to leave."

I regretted my choice of words almost as soon as I said them, for April flinched, remorse flooding her features and drowning out all other expression. She gripped the chair back with both hands and stared at her clenched fingers as if they held the secrets of the universe, her eyes downcast and suspiciously bright. "This is all my fault. I don't know if you can ever forgive-"

"Forget about it, April. I forgave you almost as soon as you told me."

"But…" Her eyes flicked around the shadow-shrouded kitchen before coming to rest on the table, battered and scarred by nearly two decades of memories. "Oh, Raph, I've cost you your home."

It was a true testament to my restraint that I managed not to roll my eyes. I was supposed to be the hotheaded, unreliable one, so why did everyone suddenly expect me to be Doctor Phil?

Scooping up the errant can of beans, I placed it in the bag. This brought me directly in her line of sight, preventing her from easily shrinking away. I then crossed my arms and gave her a speculative look. "Did you do it on purpose?"

Shock made her head snap up with an almost audible sound. "Of course not!" she said indignantly.

I nodded, secretly relieved that I had gotten her dander up before those damnable tears had a chance to fall. The woman could really turn on the waterworks when she wanted to, and it had always killed a little something inside of me to see her cry.

"Okay. So if you hadn't stopped by, then what do you think would have happened?" She seemed to have no ready answer, so I provided her with one. "When I woke up for the first time after the accident, I was weak and shaky as hell. Christ, it took nearly two hours before I could stand without hugging the wall. As weak as I was, I wouldn't have been able to stitch myself up on my own. I would've had to call you anyway." I leaned forward and gripped the chair, my hands on either side of hers. "And since Karai was getting desperate to contact me, I figure she stationed someone to watch your place and then shadow you when you left.

"Do you get it now? Coming here on your own just accelerated the process by a few hours. They would have found us anyway, and if you hadn't been there to patch me up, I would be in a lot worse shape than I am now. So just let it go," I said, in a tone of voice that brooked no argument, "and stop sniveling long enough to help me pack."

Biting her lip, she slowly released her death grip on the chair. She searched my face and seemed reassured by what she saw there, for she smiled a little and gently touched my cheek. "When did you get to be so smart?"

"I've watched a lot of Jeopardy these past few months," I said dryly.

April let out a laugh, and I stepped aside as she rounded the chair and sat down. Rolling back the sleeves on her borrowed sweatshirt, she bent over laboriously and began shifting cans into the duffel bag. "Just promise to fill me in on the details when we're on the road."

"Will do," I said distantly, my hand resting on the worn arch of the kitchen walkway. My home for the better part of ten years, and the only link I still had to them…

I snatched my hand away, as if the cold stone could burn. "Be fast, April," I said gruffly, turning my back on the kitchen and the memories it contained. "We leave in ten minutes."

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_**AN:**__ Review responses are now available on my livejournal. Just go to my profile page and click on the homepage link. :)_


	19. Raphael: Pieces of the Dead

_**AN:**__ I'm so, so sorry for the long delay, everyone. I could point out several reasons as to why it took me so long to post this, but while they would all be true, the fact of the matter is that there's no excuse for not updating this story for seven months. (Hangs head) Ashamed, Dierdre is._

_All I can do now is hope for your forgiveness... and to make you all a pledge. Come hell or high water, I promise that I will have another chapter of this story posted before Christmas break. Scout's honor, gentle readers. (Salutes)_

_And that's enough of that, methinks. I hope you enjoy chapter nineteen of 'Fade,' and as always, please feel free to point out any grammar errors or fiddly bits I might have missed. I need all the help I can get. :)_

_**AN2:**__ A resounding 'Thank you!' goes out to __**The Peanut Gallery, **__**Jessiy Landroz**__ and __**Reinbeauchaser,**__ for their sharp eyes and invaluable help with this chapter. Y'all are awesome!_

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Ten minutes. 

When I'd laid out that time limit to April, it had seemed like plenty. Ten minutes for April to gather provisions, ten minutes to get Leo ready for topside travel… and ten minutes to pack the sum total of five lives into one black gym bag.

The sheer impossibility of that last task was what had me frozen now, standing in my room with the bag dangling accusingly from my right fist, its toothless maw wide open and hungry. A number of my family's possessions had found their way here over the past few months, and I raked my eyes over them now, feeling the passing of seconds in the back of my skull like an itch. Mikey's tattered bear rested atop a leaning stack of Don's medical textbooks; one of Casey's spare hockey masks hung above the door; and Master Splinter's cane leaned against the empty dresser, its polished handle gleaming like a coin in the overhead light.

I reached out automatically for the cane, but stopped when my hand suddenly fisted, my fingers curling of their own accord to nestle tightly against my palm. My father's cane, my friend's mask, my brothers' books and cherished toys… they were of no use to anyone but me, nothing more than souvenirs of a thousand memories that were already branded indelibly into my mind. To take one, I would have to take another, and another, and soon I would have half the lair on my back and no time left at all.

Letting out a curse that hissed through my teeth like a sigh, I turned sharply and left my room, closing the door behind me. My chest hitched and rattled once, as if something in my ribcage had broken loose, but I tamped down my emotions between one breath and the next. I made my way to Leo's room, feeling my resolve strengthen with each step down that foul-smelling corridor, droplets of dried blood grinding to powder beneath my boots. There would be time later for hurt and regret.

Later, but not now.

Pushing open Leo's door, I threw the gym bag onto the bed and began to rifle through his trunk. I shoved aside a neatly stacked pile of papers and threw a journal carelessly over my shoulder, and I nearly did the same with a small music box before hesitating and setting it gently on the bed. Possessions meant nothing to the dead, but Leo still lived, and when he came back to himself I didn't want him kicking my ass for trashing his stuff.

Towards the bottom of the trunk, I found what I was looking for. Leo's daylight gear, which was used so rarely that he had stored it away in plastic to protect the cloth. Shoving the awkward, crinkling bundle under one arm, I replaced everything else and let the lid fall shut with a hollow thud. It was only the work of a moment to grab a worn book from the nightstand --its thin pages separated by a candy wrapper I'd used as a marker-- and shove it into one of my sweater pockets. Abandoning the gym bag, I made ready to leave-

Only to pause at the wall adjacent to the bed, where Leo had positioned his weapons in such a way that could only be called artistic. And there in the center, surrounded by a lethal fan of steel and chain and leather, hung my brother's swords. They gleamed even beneath a fine patina of dust, their lingering shine a mute testimony to the care and love they'd once received.

My brother's soul wrapped up in two elegant lengths of steel and corded leather; their brightness dulled, but not gone. Even I could tell that there was something terribly symbolic about that.

Time still ticked and tumbled behind my eyes, but I had little choice in the matter. There were some things no one should be without.

I trekked back to the den room a moment later and crouched in front of Leo, the swords rattling lightly in their sheaths as I lowered the over-arm harness to the ground. Clothing and a single pair of boots landed in a tangled jumble at my feet as I shook out the plastic covering. I grabbed a brown sweater from the pile and held it up, wrinkling my nose against the faint, chemical smell of mothballs.

Mentally squaring my shoulders against the ordeal to come, I gripped Leo wrist and pulled his arm towards me. I searched for recognition in his blank eyes, but quickly gave up and attempted to contort my expression into something resembling a smile.

"Come on, bro," I said quietly, "let's get you ready."

As I tried to force his limp foot into one of the scuffed leather boots, I came to the conclusion that if I never had to dress my brother again, it would be too soon. It was a little like dressing a mannequin, if a mannequin wore my brother's face and had a pulse that beat against my skin like the flutter of a sparrow's wing. If a mannequin could bear the scars of a once fierce and active life, and whose very inaction now could have the power to cause me pain.

I was able to shove, wriggle and generally force him into most of the clothing, but the spasmodic twitching of his hands finally announced the death knell of my patience. Abandoning my attempts to force his fingers into the custom-made leather gloves, I shoved them into his jacket pockets instead and sat back with a sigh. The urge to drive my fist through something just to hear it break was strong, but I settled for threading my fingers together and flexing until the knuckles cracked like distant gunshots. The sound took the edge off my ire, and after a moment I reached out again, gripping my brother by the elbows and lifting him up with the combination of steady pressure and quiet words. Once he was on his feet, I zipped up his jacket and tucked his hands into his pockets, before drawing the hood down low over his brow. The shadows dropped over his face like a shroud, leaving nothing but the emerald green curve of a broad cheekbone, and I adjusted the hood until even that fell away.

I was so busy wondering just how the hell we were going to travel across country with a catatonic mutant in the back seat, that I didn't notice her uneven footsteps until she was only a few strides away.

Turning around, I found April staring at me with an expression that was curiously pinched and reluctant, and it was only when she held out her hand that I understood the reason. "I figured you'd need these."

I grinned a little at her gruff tone and took the cigarette carton out of her hands. "Thanks, April," I said, with enough sincerity to smooth away the wrinkles of disapproval around her eyes. "Did you get the food packed?"

She reached out and straightened the hem of Leo's long jacket in a gentle, absent gesture, before nodding once. "I just about emptied the pantry. There's enough there to feed us for a couple of weeks, if we're cautious."

"Good," I said. Gathering up Leo's swords, I wordlessly held them out to her. Surprise was evident on her face, but she took them without hesitation and slung them over her good shoulder by the over-arm harness. While she was still adjusting to the awkward burden, I slipped into the kitchen, tucked the carton and the book inside the duffel bag, and then lifted the whole thing by the nylon strap. This turned out to be more difficult than I had anticipated, and the unexpected weight made flecks of white dart across my vision as I heaved the clanking burden onto my shoulder. April never did anything by halves, which apparently included packing.

Huffing a little until the strain eased, I tilted my stance to act as a counterbalance, allowing a good portion of the weight to rest on my hip. I wasted one last moment looking about the kitchen, my eyes flitting across the scarred table top, before reaching out with my free hand and flicking off the light. I forced myself to feel nothing as I turned on my heel and left the shadows behind.

April was standing by the elevator when I got back, wriggling Leo's right hand into the last glove. Despite the shaking of his hands, she maneuvered the cloth over his fingers with a lot more skill than I'd previously displayed.

"We're not taking the Battle-Shell, are we?"

It wasn't really a question, but I answered anyway. "Nah. I got us something better."

She nodded slowly, the movement making light play across her tangled curls in bands of gold and copper. "Drug dealer?"

"Long term storage," I said with a glare, challenging her to comment.

She didn't take the bait, but merely nodded and finally looked up at me. "We're both ready," she said, taking Leo's gloved hand in her own. Unbidden, his fingers curled, nearly engulfing her hand in a loose-knuckled grip. As we both stared at him with brittle hope, he made a strange shuddering sound in the back of his throat and began rocking from one foot to the other. A repetitive, mindless motion, like that of a restless child.

I didn't have the slightest clue what was going on with him now, much less if I should take it as a positive or negative sign. The feeling wasn't exactly new to me, but judging from April's expression, she was just as baffled as I was.

Oh, well. If I was going to be kept in the dark, at least this time I had company.

We boarded the elevator without a word, April leading Leo by the hand. When the doors ground shut and the car began its limping ascent, April reached out and touched my shoulder.

"You okay?" she asked, her brow furrowing in concern.

I shot her a glance out of the corner of my eye, watching her bounce slightly in involuntary cadence with the jerking of the elevator. She anticipated my question before I could voice it and looked pointedly at my left hand. It was only then that I realized I was gripping the strap of the duffel so tightly that my knuckles had taken on the shade of bleached pine needles.

I released my death grip on the nylon so fast April flinched back in surprise. "I'm fine," I said shortly, mentally cursing myself for not keeping a better rein on my emotions. The only things that mattered in my life were standing beside me now, and I refused to melt into a puddle of angst just because I was leaving a few worthless baubles and trinkets behind.

April might have prodded me more, but her questions were forestalled by the opening of the elevator door. I stepped out and let the bag slip off my shoulder. It hit the ground with a heavy thud half in and half out of the lift, forcing the door to remain open. Light spilled outward like the bursting of a dam, flooding the warehouse with a pale glow. The Battle Shell squatted like a toad near one wall, the sickly light turning its tan paintjob the color of rotting cream. I prowled around it for a moment before turning my attention to the rest of the building, making certain that none of Karai's flunkies were trying to be cute by playing a demented game of hide and seek.

Once I was satisfied that we were alone, I beckoned to April with a quick wave of my hand. She exited the elevator on cue, blinking in the dimness as Leo rocked from heel to heel beside her, as if he'd been stricken with a sudden case of autism. Considering the way my luck had been running recently, I wouldn't have been all that surprised if he had.

"I'll bring the car around," I said, my eyes on April as I attempted to ignore the disturbing, hypnotic sway of my brother's body. "If anything happens while I'm gone, ride the elevator back down and hit the emergency lockdown button. It should buy you two enough time for me to get back."

She nodded obediently, but if her dubious look was any indication, she thought I was being paranoid. Hell, she was probably right, but I wasn't about to take back my words. When you lived the life I did, paranoia wasn't just a state of mind. It was a survival mechanism.

The rain had caught up with me when I left the warehouse and ventured out into the night. My clothes, which had finally almost dried, were soaked through again in seconds, and I spat out a useless curse at the sky. Hugging the available walls, I darted from shadow to shadow, the water cooling my skin so quickly that my breath escaped my lips in snake tail tendrils of steam.

I was cold, achy, pissed off and wet all the way down to my bones… and I still had a five hour drive to look forward to. God, my life sucked.

The rain was more subdued that it had been an hour ago, but the steady patter of drops against my hood still managed to disguise the sound of their voices until the last moment. Barely a yard from the alleyway where I'd stashed the car, I stopped so quickly that my foot slipped on the rain-slick pavement with an audible skittering splash of parting water. I hurriedly righted myself and pressed my shell against the building's graffiti-smeared brickwork, hardly daring to breathe.

The dice had apparently rolled in my favor for once, though. My stumble went unheard, and the timbre of their voices never faltered.

Sidling like a crab, I inched my way over to the mouth of the alley and carefully peered inside. Instead of the enveloping blankness I'd encountered before, this time the narrow passageway was dimly illuminated by the station wagon's interior light. The driver's side door was wide open and a figure was hunched behind the wheel, barely visible over the dashboard as his unseen hands fiddled with the ignition column. Another man was standing near the front bumper, theoretically acting as a lookout. He must not have been very good at his job, though, for he was turned away from me. His whip-thin profile was lit up by the car light, tipping his wet, spiky hair with pinpricks of liquid gold.

"How's it look?" the skinny one asked.

"Some fool already jacked this heap," the other replied in a muffled voice, the car creaking slightly as he shifted. "Hardly nothing left for me to do. Gimme another thirty seconds and we're outta here."

The skinny guy turned his back completely to me and made an approving noise, which was exactly the opposite of my opinion on the matter. I didn't have the time or the energy to steal another car tonight, and I was pretty certain that Splinter would come back from the dead to smack me one if I tried.

With the lookout still shirking his duties, it was easy for me to slip into the alley and pad silently over to him. The smell of his cheap cologne assaulted my nasal passages as I listened to him outline a plan for a 'beer and bitches' run, oblivious to my presence as he chatted happily. It was almost a shame to interrupt him, but it would've been rude of me if I didn't say 'hi.'

His short beard was a harsh prickle against the pads of my fingers as I clamped my right hand over his mouth and drove a pile-driver fist into his left kidney. He exhaled explosively from his nostrils, his legs buckling like he'd been kicked in the back of the knees. I rammed my elbow against the apex of his neck as he crumpled, sending him to dreamland without even a token show of protest.

Too damn easy, really.

I lowered his limp form to the ground and crouched over him, my shoulder pressed against the lip of the wheel well. The man in the driver's seat straightened as the silence began to stretch out like a blade, and I could barely see a broad, dark face squinting through the windshield.

"Vince?" he called worriedly.

His brow furrowed when there was no reply, and he stepped slowly out of the car, his right hand easing towards the small of his back. I had a good idea of what he was reaching for, so I wasted no time springing forward and impacting the door with my shoulder. The door slammed into his chest like the world's largest mousetrap, snapping him backwards and painfully twisting his arm, his body weight crushing it between his spine and the doorframe. He let out a strangled yell and collapsed to the side, cursing fitfully as something metallic skittered across the concrete and slid under the car. He tried to stand, and I shut the door with a sharp snap, barely missing his grasping fingers. The man fell away, flat on the ground again and struggling, and I attempted to end the fight right there by lunging over his buddy's unconscious form and burying my knee in his crotch.

He squeaked like a rusty hinge --a high, girlish sound--, but proved his toughness an instant later when he lashed out with a fist and caught me in the throat. I gagged and stumbled back, momentarily vulnerable as my body attempted to hack up chunks of my esophagus. He used the moment to lurch to his feet, bow-legged and huffing like an asthmatic cowboy, before letting out a snarl of rage and lunging at me.

I collapsed to the concrete with a pissed off human all but sitting on my chest, blunt-nailed fingers scrabbling with my hood as he attempted to wrap his hands around my neck. Still nearly night-blind, he didn't react when the hood slipped off my head, but there was apparently nothing wrong with his sense of touch, for he paused as his clawing fingers raked over my plastron. The moment of profound confusion lasted for less than a second, but it was enough for me to shove aside the splintering burn in my throat and regain the upper hand.

My knuckles split against his septum as I tagged him with a left hook, smearing his nose across one broad cheekbone. He tumbled off of me like he'd just been pole-axed, his nose now the approximate shape and texture of silly putty. He hit the pavement like a sack of cement, twitched once, and then laid still. Silence descended on the alleyway once more, broken only by his wet, bubbling breaths and the monotonous pitter-patter of the rain.

Blinking water from my eyes, I stood with painful slowness, leaning against the hood of the station wagon and prodding gingerly at my throat. Despite the shards of glass that I inhaled with every breath, my wind pipe seemed to be intact, which was another bit of good fortune I hadn't really expected.

I should go buy a lottery ticket. I was just having all kinds of luck tonight.

I hacked once and spit out a mouthful of copper-tasting saliva, before holding out my hands and letting the weeping sky wash away the blood that streaked my knuckles. My mouth curved of its own accord into a slow, savage grin.

Sweet shivering _fuck_, that had felt good. Forget counseling or drug therapy; one minute of pounding on those bad guys had done more for my nerves than a whole bottle of Ritalin.

Feeling generous, I dragged Vince out of the rain and leaned him against one of the filthy walls. I stretched the other guy out beside him, taking an extra moment to turn him on his side so he wouldn't drown in the blood that I could hear draining down the back of his throat. Never let it be said that I wasn't a nice guy.

The vents belched out heat as I slid into the driver's seat and used my Leatherman to start the car, its engine turning over easily and purring out a greeting. I was pulling up in front of the warehouse only a few moments later, the gravel pathway crunching underneath my tires. The whitewashed metal door opened a crack, and then swung wide and disgorged April, who shaded her eyes and squinted against the light. I climbed out of the car, leaving it running as I stepped in front of the headlights, partially blocking the glare. She smiled at the sight of me and then ducked back into the gloom, returning a moment later with Leo in tow.

"Get him situated," I said without preamble. "I'll get the food."

My throat was still sore, and she raised an eyebrow at the unusual grate to my voice, but quickly shrugged it off. "I found a couple of gas cans near the Battle Shell. They're still pretty full, so we shouldn't have to stop at a station to refuel."

I'd been a bit worried about that, so I nodded gratefully and disappeared into the warehouse, leaving her to get Leo buckled up. It didn't take me long to find the cans she'd mentioned, tucked between the converted armored car and the wall. I set them down long enough to sling the heavy duffel bag over my shoulder, before taking a gas can in each hand and tottering out the door, closing it behind me with a clumsy mule-kick.

I rounded the car and found that April had already opened the rear door, leaving Leo's swords resting against the right wheel well of the cargo hold. With a heave and a grunt of effort, I tossed everything into the remaining space, the duffel hitting the carpeted floor panels with enough force to rock the vehicle. I heard one of the passenger doors close, followed by the uneven sound of footsteps, and I was in the process of shoving a gas can into a more stable position when I felt the car shift again. I looked up, growled lowly at what I saw, and then slammed the rear door shut.

Marching over to the driver's side, I rapped sharply on the window. April rolled it down dutifully, giving me a look of such pure innocence that I knew she must've gotten pointers from Mikey. "What?"

"Just what to do you think you're doing?"

"Sitting," she said with a smile, raindrops glittering in her hair.

"Don't be a smartass," I said, pointedly ignoring the irony of that statement. "You can't drive."

The smile disappeared, as if it had never been. "I can," she said levelly. "My right leg is just fine, so I can work the pedals. And cell phone users the world over have proven that it's possible to drive with only one hand."

"Let me rephrase, then. I won't _let_ you drive." Rainwater dripped down my neck in a steady stream, making me fight not to shiver as I yanked open the door. She stared at me solemnly, her braced leg stretched out awkwardly beside the steering column. When she made no move to leave, I snapped, "Get out, April! We don't have time for this."

"Exactly," she said with equal heat, her hands tightening on the wheel. "It's going to be daylight in another couple of hours, and the morning rush will start even sooner than that. Do you really think you can drive through heavy traffic and not be seen?"

"I'd rather take my chances with that than risk you seizing up and driving us into a stoplight."

"Which is about as likely as _you_ having a flashback and coasting the car into incoming traffic," she shot back. Something in my face must have told her that she hit a little too close to home, for her eyes softened and she said more calmly, "It won't be for the whole trip, Raph. Just until we get out of the city and the roads clear a little. I promise that I won't endanger us. Not again."

It didn't take much perception to figure out the meaning of that last sentence. The stubborn, impossible woman felt that she had something to prove, and I was simply too tired to argue with her any more.

"Fine," I sighed, "but as soon as we hit the open road, we're pulling over and switching places. This isn't open for debate." I leaned forward and gave her a narrow-eyed glance, the effect somewhat ruined by the water that was dripping off my chin. "Do you understand me, or do I have to use smaller words?"

She grinned at me then, a bright, half moon curve on that pixie face, and I felt my anger curl in on itself and die. "Thanks, Raph."

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled, turning away and getting into the back seat. I wrung out my sweater as best I could, water dripping to the floor beneath my booted feet, while April adjusted the mirrors and angled the vents so that warm air began to ripple over my face.

Leo, who was buckled up in the middle of the seat, had begun to rock again, his body swaying forward and back with metronomic regularity. As April slowly pulled away from the warehouse and began driving down the road, the windshield wipers working furiously, I buckled my seat belt and draped a soggy arm over Leo's shoulders. I cupped the back of his neck and pushed his head slightly forward, making the shadows of his hood drop down over his face. My grip was as gentle as I could make it, and he didn't squirm under my touch, but I could still feel the muscles in his neck bunch and relax as he rocked back and forth without pause.

Something in my chest twisted oddly, and I grimaced, pulling my own hood low over my brow. I stared straight ahead as the city lights slid over the car windows in long streaks of multicolored radiance… and eventually fell asleep to the tune of the rain-washed city and the feel of my brother's warmth.

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AN:**__ Well, it took rather longer than I had expected, but I finally have my review responses posted on my livejournal account. Just go to my profile and click on the homepage link. :)_


	20. Raphael: The Virtues of Stubbornness

_**AN: **__It's 11:30 p.m. on Christmas Eve, which means that I was able to keep my promise to my gentle readers. Just barely, anyway. (Collapses)_

_I hope y'all have a wonderful holiday, and as always, please feel free to point out any grammar errors or fiddly bits I might have missed. I need all the help I can get. :-)_

_**AN2:** A huge 'Thank you!' goes out to **Reinbeauchaser** and **KameTerra** for their sharp eyes and invaluable help with this chapter. (Hugs)_

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The arc and flare of candles highlighted my dreams, perfuming the air with the scent of warm candle wax and smoke. A figure moved just beyond the line of flames, revealing in quick bursts of reflected light a glimpse of its shape. The thin, sliver curve of a sharp talon; a flash of graying hair; and a slice of a brown iris, nearly swallowed by a wide, dark pupil. Little pieces of a being that my mind would not let me recognize, but the curious ache in my chest prompted me to reach out. 

The candles flared up like blowtorches, but still I tried, forcing my arms through the candlestick bars. Flames danced malevolently an inch from my face, burning bright and hot as the sun, and I could swear my fingers brushed against coarse fur an instant before a strange sound cut the dreams into ribbons of light, and heat, and familiar, aching eyes.

I snorted and jerked upright, clapping a hand over my eyes in defense against the daylight, which filtered through the window and stabbed at my pupils like knitting needles. My face was hot from the sun, and as the last shreds of the dream fell away, I heard that sound again. A muted whimper and a soft, sudden gasp. The quiet sounds of pain.

My head snapped to the left so fast it actually made me dizzy, and I had to blink rapidly to chase away the sudden frost over my eyes. I grabbed Leo by the chin and turned his face towards me, studying that blank expression with probing intensity. Aside from the slight, seasick sway of his body, he seemed to be in no distress, which left me with only one other option.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and leaned forward, propping my forearms on the headrests of the front seats. April was still driving, the tree-lined roadway passing by serenely on either side of the car, but her right hand was clenched so tightly around that steering wheel that the knuckles had taken on the shade of old ivory.

I immediately reached out and pressed my fingers against the wheel beneath her hand, ensuring that it remained steady. "Pull over, April. Right now."

"I'm trying," she said in a tight, breathy voice. "There's a turnaround just ahead."

Hoping that the glare would shield my face from incoming traffic, I squinted through the windshield. Sure enough, there was an extension on the side of the road about a hundred yards away, bulging out from the two lane road and into the tree-line like a tumorous growth. I shifted my grip on the wheel and touched April's shoulder with my free hand, giving it a brief squeeze before saying, "Okay, then. Just take it easy and coast. You got this."

She nodded once, took a deep breath, and then eased off the accelerator, letting the car's momentum carry us forward and into the turnaround. The shadow-dappled car lurched a little as she hit the breaks and turned off the ignition, the car settling with the rapid horseshoe click of a hot engine. I was out of the back seat and rounding the vehicle in seconds, my face carefully turned away from the road as the occasional car roared passed. I opened the driver's side door and leaned in, taking in her drawn, tight-lipped expression. "What happened?"

April reached down between the bars of the leg brace and pressed her knuckles against her thigh. The caged muscle twitched and writhed, a little involuntary dance that made her gasp again, before it seized so tightly that I could actually see the outline of it through her pant leg. I wasn't a medic by any stretch of the imagination, but the diagnosis was an obvious one. She had a cramp, probably from sitting too long in a fixed position.

Damn her stubborn hide, I _know _the doctors had warned her about this…

"Oh, never mind," I sighed, dropping down on one knee. After casting a quick glance through the back window to make sure Leo's face was still hidden, I gently gripped April's afflicted leg. "Can you swing sideways in the seat?"

Biting her lip, she green eyes clouded, she nodded and began to twist her body around. Her leg trembled spasmodically as I levered it out from beneath the steering column, moving slowly until she was sitting with her back pressed against the center compartment, her sneakers brushing against the gravel-strewn asphalt. Her hand gripped the wheel as I carefully unstrapped the brace and let it aside, before once again laying my hands on her thigh.

A lifetime of heavy exercise had ensured that I was no stranger to leg cramps, and my hands moved surely over the stricken muscle. Even though the back of my neck crawled every time another car passed us, I took my time, kneading carefully and keeping my eyes on her face. It was difficult to know the right amount of pressure to use with my numb fingertips, so I had to rely on her body language; applying firmer pressure when she relaxed and drawing back whenever she winced. A good thing April had always been an open book, otherwise this would've been a lot more difficult.

Once the muscle began to loosen, the tendons near her knee relaxing as the trembling died away, I looked down at my hands. The sun's heat seeped through the back of my hood as I asked, seemingly mesmerized by the circular motion of my fingertips, "It's been a while since I nodded off, hasn't it?"

"Almost four hours," she admitted. Gently pushing my hands away with a murmured "Thanks," she wrestled with the brace until it was fastened around her leg again. Task completed, she glanced up and got an eyeful of my thunderous expression.

Her mouth curved into a small, sheepish grin. "You were sleeping so peacefully. I couldn't bear to wake you."

It took a heroic amount of effort not to smack her upside the head like I used to do with Mikey, but I somehow managed to restrain myself. Settling for the next best thing, I sat back on my heels and crossed my arms. "You were a scientist before you met us," I said conversationally. "Supposedly one of the best in your field. So for someone who's so damn smart, how'd you get to be so stupid?"

A decade ago, a comment like that would have been enough to make her quail, but years of dealing with my charming personality had given her a skin as tough as reinforced concrete. Her temperament had become a bit unpredictable these past few months, but I wasn't about to start reining in my tongue. If she still insisted on being my conscience during my own moments of idiocy, then I sure as hell could do the same for her.

Fortunately, she didn't seem to take it to heart, for she merely rolled her eyes and poked me in the forehead, announcing in no uncertain terms that she wished to stand. I grumbled and swiped halfheartedly at her hand, but stood without further complaint, backing away as she carefully levered herself to her feet. My heels were nearly brushing the solid yellow line as I gave her a little space, watching as she hobbled in circles around the car, stretching out her stiff leg. I felt the breeze of a passing car ruffle my hood, and I hunched my shoulders instinctively, feeling terribly exposed.

Seemingly oblivious to my discomfort, she came to a halt on the opposite side of the car and pressed her hands against her back. Her spine arched and cracked, and April's expression quickly morphed from a grimace to one of muted bliss. "It's not like you would've done anything different in my place," she said finally.

There was some truth to that, but I was in no mood to be reasonable. Marching forward to put a little distance between myself and the road, I propped my arms on the car's roof and waited for the clawing discomfort on the back of my neck to subside. The metal warmed my skin beautifully beneath the sweater, and the steady throb in my wounded arm began to slow. Sighing a little, I leaned my covered plastron against the rear passenger window, hiding Leo entirely from view.

April squinted against the light that set her tousled hair on fire, and I was suddenly struck by how different she looked beneath the glare of the sun's eye. Without moonlight or dying fluorescent bulbs to smooth out the imperfections, I could see lines on her face that I'd never noticed before. Little track marks that had been scored around her eyes and mouth; the wrinkles like time's signature etched into her skin. The scars that textured her flesh shined in this new light, the delicate tangle of damaged tissue coiling up a neck that already seemed fragile, birdlike, and too easily snapped.

Something passed over me then; something cold and terribly familiar, like a blade brushing across my skin. It unnerved me in a way that I couldn't describe, and as what often happened when I was accosted with an unfamiliar emotion, I grew angry.

"That doesn't change the fact that you put us at risk," I said, the sporadic drone of traffic becoming distant and unimportant. "What if you'd caused an accident, or gotten us pulled over? How would you explain your mutant hitchhikers to the cops?"

"Like you could've shown them your license if you'd been the one driving," she replied, her thin shoulders hunching, as if preparing for an attack. "I didn't plan to cramp up, you know, and I started pulling over as soon as it happened. What's with you?"

I couldn't explain what had set me off, since I didn't fully understand it myself, but fortunately I had a whole laundry list of other complaints to choose from. "What do you think?" I snapped. "You're neglecting yourself for no good reason. I've been unconscious more in the past two nights than I've been in a month, and I'm _still _fucking tired. We're on the run from the Foot clan _again_, and Leo's still off chasing comets with his mind."

I pushed away from the car and stabbed a finger at Leo, who was rocking like a depressed teeter-totter in the backseat. "I mean, what's this? _What the hell is this? _I thought he was getting better, and now suddenly he's a dumbed-down version of the Rain Man? Is this God's idea of a sick joke? Let's give that fucktard Raphael a little hope, and then-"

My meltdown was silenced abruptly by the mechanical shriek of breaks, as sudden and shocking as a kick in the balls. I whirled around like a top, my arm automatically lifting up to hide my face. It was a bit late for that, though, since it was obvious that the driver had seen me.

Standing there like an idiot with my hand outstretched, skin gleaming emerald for all the world to see. Stupid, stupid turtle. Splinter was probably spinning in his grave right now…

The driver forced his vintage yellow Camaro into a squealing, skidding stop just beyond us, and I got a glimpse of a young man ogling me through the tinted side window. With my free hand, I reached for my sai through the hole in my sweater pocket. Slaughtering innocent passersby was really bad for my karma, so that I wasn't sure what I was going to do with it, but luckily I didn't have to decide. The familiar, threatening move jolted the human into action, and the engine roared as he planted a foot on the gas and made an illegal U-turn, his tires leaving black lines on the asphalt as he barreled back the way he had come.

With the smell of burning rubber setting up shop in my nasal passages, I turned around and exchanged a wide-eyed look with April. The surreal moment stretched and twanged like a bow as the Camaro disappeared around a bend in the road… and then suddenly we remembered how to move again.

I dove into the driver's seat as April scrambled into the back, all but falling into Leo's lap as she landed clumsily. I didn't give her time to straighten, but merely started the car and stomped down on the gas pedal. We shot down the road like a powder blue rocket, April fighting with her seatbelt as I tried to put as much distance between us and the turnaround as possible. Belatedly, I pulled my hood down low over my brow and pressed my chin against the bridge of my plastron, attempting to make myself unobtrusive.

No mutant motorists here, folks. Just move along.

Realizing that screeching down the highway at seventy miles an hour was not a good way to go unnoticed, I reluctantly eased up on the gas and turned off at a feeder road. A few right turns brought us into a stretch of pastureland, the vast expanse of yellowing grass dotted with the occasional cow. I pulled into a pothole-riddled gravel road, which ambled drunkenly towards a distant farmhouse, and parked the car beneath the shade of a few scraggly trees.

The silence in the car was deafening as I pressed my back against the seat and waited for my panicked heart to calm. My mind wasn't in much better shape, for it was busily pulling up random snatches of childhood memories; blurry recollections of four small forms wrapped in blankets, attempting to frighten each other with whispered tales in the candlelight. Mikey's stories had usually involved ghosts, werewolves and a plethora of slimy, crawling things. Mine had always been about metal slabs, gleaming scalpels, and blank-eyed men in white surgical masks.

It took me a while, but I began to accept that the guy probably wasn't interested in hunting us down with a tranq gun and a traveling surgeon's kit. My heart began to slow to a more normal pace, and the adrenaline twitching in my muscles eventually gave up and went on a coffee break. Relaxing by inches, I looked out of the side window, where an oversized cow chewed its cud and stared at me with worrying intensity.

I was debating on favoring the hamburger-waiting-to-happen with a rude hand gesture, when my musings were interrupted by the sound of a low chuckle. A quick glance into the rearview mirror confirmed it was April, who had finally managed to straighten properly in her seat, the belt draped loosely across her torso. Her face was stretched into a Cheshire cat grin, and my perfectly reasonable question of "What the hell?" only seemed to amuse her further.

She threw her withered arm over Leo's shoulders and touched the side of his head with her own, giggling in a way that I hadn't heard in far too long. "Did you see his face?" she gasped.

Memory helpfully conjured a snapshot of the guy's moon-round expression; slack-jawed and shell-shocked, as if the President had walked up and smacked him with a trout. I imagined the therapy session that would surely follow _--"I'm not making this up, Doc! I'm telling you, it was a giant turtle! On two legs! __**Wearing a hoodie!**"_-- and I found my mouth stretching, unbidden, into a crooked grin.

As if to punctuate the absurdity of the moment, the cow lifted its tail and did its part to improve soil quality. From the rearview mirror, I watched as April flipped off the offending animal, unconsciously mirroring my earlier thoughts. I barked out a surprised laugh, bending my arm back over the seat so we could exchange a high five. The whole thing was sublimely stupid, and we both knew it. Wanna guess how much we cared?

In much better spirits, I took a few minutes to refuel the car with one of the gas cans stored in the back, and then we were on the road again. I stuck to the feeder roads as often as possible, and whenever I was forced to venture onto the freeway, I made sure to keep my speed down and my hood pulled low. As unintentionally amusing as our last encounter had been, I was in no hurry to repeat the experience.

The miles passed by steadily beneath the wheels of our commandeered station wagon, and I helped to pass the time by telling April everything she had missed after our disastrous walk to the bus stop. I wasn't much of a storyteller, but I did my best to leave nothing out. Not even the embarrassing bits, like Karai bitch-slapping me with a cage bar.

The long stretch of feeder road had given way to several winding, one lane streets, which seemed to exist only a dividers between one farm and the next. It had been several minutes since I had seen another car, and I began to relax as our destination grew inexorably closer. There was a long moment of quiet when I finally ran out of words, and I glanced at April with my trusty rearview mirror. She was staring out the window, seemingly in deep thought, as the broken shadows of the overhanging trees strobed over her face.

Seeming to buckle under my expectant gaze, she finally asked, "What will you do?"

"Dunno, really," I admitted. "She seemed sincere, but I got twenty years of training telling me it'd be suicide to trust Saki's kid, biological or not." I shrugged, even though she couldn't see it. "Once I know you two are safe, maybe I can start figuring this shit out."

She leaned forward as far as the seatbelt would allow, her fingertips brushing against my shoulder in the briefest of touches. "I know you will," she said, with a perfect faith that made me feel vaguely ashamed, "but until you do, it'll be nice to visit the farmhouse again."

I made a noncommittal noise and turned left, swinging onto the last road before we would reach the farmhouse. It had been a while, now that I thought about it. The seven of us had come here last Christmas for some family bonding time, as well as the observation of such sacred rituals as tree decorating, gift exchange, and the consumption of copious amounts of eggnog. In the span of our three day trip, Mikey had caught April under the mistletoe no less than seven times, and Leo had gotten a little tipsy, somehow managing to coax Donnie into singing 'Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.' Splinter had gotten tangled in the Christmas lights, and Casey and I had managed to set fire to the hayloft.

It had been a fun holiday. Our last, as it turned out.

'Last' seemed to color a lot of my memories lately, and I was beginning to hate the word. The finality of it was always so damn depressing.

April and I let out a simultaneous sigh of relief when the gravel pathway burst through the trees framing the road. It was barely more than a footpath, but I followed it dutifully until we were swallowed up by the trees. The farmhouse loomed up ahead in all its geriatric splendor, its peeling, gray paint and shedding roof tiles like something straight out of a storybook. Weighted down by history and time, it's drooping porch and dual windows stared at us sleepily, like the weather-beaten face of an old man.

I had to agree with April. It was good to be back.

I parked the car in the barn, its dim interior still smelling faintly of hay and horse manure, and told April to hold tight while I checked everything out. I stalked around the house for a while, just for the look of the thing, and then fished out the key from a flower pot beneath the porch. The door was sticky, so I had to put my shoulder into it to force it open. The musty aroma of dust and mildew was almost as good as home, and I smiled briefly before systematically checking each room in the house. To my complete lack of surprise, I encountered nothing, and soon headed back to the others, flipping on the lights as I went. Casey had left the house to April in his will, along with a long term account with the local water and power company. Keeping such a large place running year round was expensive, but thanks to Casey's foresight, April wouldn't have to foot the bill for another five years.

God, I missed that clumsy, oversized primate. Every old picture and stick of furniture in this place reminded me of him.

It took only a few minutes to round up April and Leo and herd them into the house. I left April puttering around in the kitchen, and my brother seated on the rocking chair in front of the cold fire place. He seemed to take to it immediately, and steady squeaking of antique wood accompanied me back outside.

I let my hood puddle at the back of my neck, deriving an amusement park thrill at leaving myself exposed to light. Multiple visits to this place had assured me that it was safe, for the nearest neighbor was old man Finnegan, who hadn't stepped beyond the bounds of his land in twenty years, as far as we could tell. Still, I threw the duffel bag over my shoulder and gathered up Leo's swords, tottering back to the house as swiftly as I could. It didn't matter how isolated this place was, the paranoia was so ingrained that it would never entirely leave me. I'd feel a whole lot better once it was nightfall again.

I had barely made it through the door when the peace was shattered by an unholy clatter and the sound of an abortive scream. The duffel crashed unceremoniously to the floor, and I had one of Leo's swords out and glittering in my hand a second later. I dropped the over-arm harness and remaining sword in a careless heap and charged into the dining room. Nearly colliding with the table in my haste, my eyes raked over the small kitchen, searching for any sign of a threat.

What I found instead was April surrounded by a half dozen pots and pans, staring into the cabinet beneath the stove in horror. Shooting me a hunted look, she pointed a shaky finger at the confines of the dark cabinet. "It's in there," she squeaked. "Get it! Kill it!

I lowered the sword with a longsuffering sigh. "You've helped us fight the Shredder, the Purple Dragons and the Foot in the ten years that I've known you. Isn't freaking out over a spider a bit ridiculous?"

"I don't care," she shot back. "It's big and hairy and disgusting, and it tried to eat my hand!"

I groaned and rolled my eyes at the ceiling, as if asking for help. Receiving none, I gave myself over to the inevitable and handed April the sword. "Here. You can watch my back just in case the cockroach hordes decide to mobilize."

She held the sword carefully, the blade tip pointed down in the proper resting position, but the effect was somewhat ruined when she stuck her tongue out at me. Deciding to be the mature one for once, I let the insult go and fished the small, shy, and utterly harmless garden spider from its web in the bowl of a cast iron skillet. Holding it carefully cupped in my hands, I left the kitchen, snorting when April backed away hastily, as if I was clutching a pit viper.

I couldn't feel the skitter of its legs against my palm as I opened the door with my elbow and stepped out into the grass, and for a moment I was afraid that I'd crushed it. My worries were allayed a moment later, however, when the spider forced itself out from between a gap in my fingers and made a daring leap for freedom. It landed in the grass and disappeared between the blades, no doubt anxious to avoid another encounter with its giant, green abductor.

Back inside, April was clanging about in the kitchen, cleaning out the dusty pots and staring suspiciously into every dark corner. I helpfully drug the duffel into the kitchen and shoved the whole thing into the pantry, before cracking open every window and blind in the bottom floor. The stale, neglected smell gradually began to dissipate, replaced with the aroma of sun-warmed grass and the eternal drone of insects.

My next chore involved stripping and changing the beds in the first three bedrooms. I did it mechanically, my mind drifting of its own accord back to last Christmas, when Leo had helped me with this particular task. He had insisted on hospital corners, while I had championed the classic 'throw and go' method. The debate --and ensuing shouting match-- had spilled out into the living room, where Splinter had ended the fight abruptly by smacking us both with a couch cushion.

Good times, good times.

If nothing else, my style of bed-making meant that the task was done quickly. I gratefully stripped off my B.O. soaked sweater and walked by the kitchen with it slung over my shoulder. April had broken into the duffel and was laying waste to several cans with an old-style can opener, humming under her breath in a fit of happy domesticity. I grinned at her turned back and stepped into the den room-

Only to draw up short, the sweater slipping unnoticed off my shoulder.

My brother had left the rocking chair and was now standing beside it, the hood of his jacket thrown back to expose his scarred face. The over-arm harness and sheaths were still lying in a jumble at his feet, and one sword was resting on the mantel. Probably placed there by April.

Leo held his last remaining weapon in both hands. The blade was tilted sideways in a classic defense pose, its tip glinting in the overhead light like a diamond shard.

My personal universe reeled, seeming to tilt sideways and constrict. It squeezed the breath from my lungs and shot adrenaline through every nerve ending, making my stomach churn. Feeling both elated and sick, I took a careful step forward, half expecting the floorboards to rip away and send me tumbling into a Lewis Carol opium dream.

Leo's weird, full-bodied sway had disappeared completely, and he now stood stock still, his expression twisted into a look of concentration that I remembered from a thousand sparring matches. He didn't seem to be aware of my presence, but when I took another shaky step, he suddenly spoke two words, "I remember."

"What, Leo?" Distantly, I realized that my voice was almost as hoarse as his. "What do you remember?"

"I remember being whole."

Four simple words, spoken in a flat monotone, and my heart was broken all over again.

"You still are," I said, swallowing around the sudden splintering in my throat. "You're just a little lost, is all."

Summoning up my courage, I closed the final distance between us and reached out, folding my hands around his own. His tendons flexed beneath the pads of my fingers, and his sword bisected the narrow space between us, its razor edge a hairsbreadth from my plastron. "But if you let us, we'll help you find your way back. Stay with us now. Stay with _me_."

"I'm trying." His eyes finally flicked up to my face, and in their depths, a battle waged. "It _hurts_."

"Of course it does," I replied, my voice soft but intense, willing him to listen. "It ain't exactly fun for me or April, either. But we're toughing it out, and if we can do it, then you sure as hell can. Just don't bail on me any more, bro. It's getting too hard to take."

His grip on the hilt loosened, and his eyes fogged over in a familiar way that made me want to scream. "Things fall apart," he breathed. "The center cannot hold…"

The words sounded familiar, like a quote I had heard a long time ago, but I didn't care to try and figure it out. I released his hands, and the sword dropped to the floor, its blade glancing off the steel toe of my boot. I barely noticed.

I gripped him by the shoulders and squeezed hard, attempting to ground him, to _force _him to stay. "What does that mean?" I rasped, my face an inch from his own. "Talk to me, Leo. What the hell does that mean?"

His ruined mouth curved; the expression sad and familiar enough to sear the soul.

"Sorry."

And just like flipping a switch, he was gone again. With horrific slowness, his eyes as lifeless as a doll's, he began to rock beneath my hands.

My world greyed and crumbled to ash, and I backed away from him as if struck. My shell hit the wall with an audible thud, and I stared dumbly down at the slit in the leather of my boot. The steel shown through it, a sliver of brightness against that dark hide, and for a long moment, I could think of no reason to move and nothing to say.

I might have stayed like that all afternoon, both of us frozen like two warped statues in a nightmare house of wax, if I hadn't been saved by the sound of April's voice.

"Well, the pans are clean, and the food's heating up. We'll have a prepackaged feast in just a few-" She hobbled into the room with a rag in her hands, her fingers shiny with water, and abruptly stopped speaking. Her gaze passed over us both, before settling again on me, her expression suddenly worried. "What happened?"

Her words were like a patch of green in the Pompeii landscape of my thoughts. I grimly lunged for that scrap of color, and in it, I found a measure of clarity.

"I don't know," I said, my voice distant and strange to my own ears, "but I think it's time Leo went to bed. It was a long trip." I looked at her quickly and then away, unable to bear her questioning eyes. "Fix yourself something to eat, if you want. I might be a while."

I gripped my brother by the wrist, snapped out a command, and walked away without another word, giving Leo the choice to follow or be dragged. He stumbled and nearly fell, but eventually righted himself and followed behind obediently. I pull him like a tugboat into the first bedroom and forced him to sit on the paisley comforter at the foot of the bed. Feeling savage and robbed, I dropped to one knee and began to undress him with an abruptness that stopped just short of rough. I put him to bed afterward and pulled the covers up to his shoulders, tucking him in until the constriction around his body made the rocking die away.

"You may have given up, Leo," I said grimly, closing his eyes with two fingers, like a priest performing the Last Rites, "but you seem to have forgotten one thing. I'm more stubborn than you'll ever be."

I left the room and returned a moment later, one hand weighed down by the book I'd stored in the duffel bag. I plopped down on the hard wooden top of an antique trunk, which had been shoved against the wall beside the bed, and let the worn, hardback book fall open. A Snicker's wrapper fluttered to the floor, and I kicked the makeshift bookmark away, where it skittered beneath the faded cream dust ruffle.

When Leo was still sane, he had loved to read. He didn't have a lot of time to himself for such things, but he had tried to set aside a few minutes every night to indulge. Even after everything went to hell, it was just about the only way I knew to get him to sleep. This particular book had been a gift from Donnie on our birthday last year. It was one of his favorites.

I was about to start where I'd left off, but then abruptly flipped back to the first chapter. The pages draped limply over my fingers as I cast a sideways glance at Leo, who was still breathing too rapidly for sleep.

I sighed and looked back down at the book, where the first letter curled in the left corner of the page in elegant, oversized print. Perhaps this was what was necessary. Beginning an old story anew, every day, until the ending turned out differently.

"Go to sleep, bro," I said quietly, "and when you wake up, we'll try again."

Straightening in my seat, the open blinds casting bright lines of midday light across the pages, I cleared my throat and began to read:

"'Camelot -- Camelot," said I to myself. 'I don't seem to remember hearing of it before. Name of the asylum, likely.'

It was a soft, reposeful summer landscape, as lovely as a dream, and as lonesome as Sunday…"

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_**AN: **I'm terribly sorry to post yet another bridging chapter to this novel-length monstrosity, but if y'all will just bear with me a little longer, then I promise things will start getting interesting again. Like, in the next chapter. (Attempts to look endearing)_

_The quote that Leo used is from a poem by W.B. Yeats, and the book excerpt is from Mark Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. Both are now considered to be public domain, and both are recommended reads._

_It's pretty late here, and I need to catch some sleep, so there won't be any review responses right now. But when I **do **post them tomorrow, all you have to do is go to my profile and click on the homepage link. :-) _


	21. Raphael: Ghosts

This chapter is dedicated to **JennaLouise**, who lit a fire under me to finish this tale. She's an awesome beta and a gifted writer, and it would serve you well to check out her fics. :-)

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AN:

_To any and all newcomers to this story… hello, and I hope you enjoy!_

_If any of my original readers are still around, and if they happen to be reading this, I just want them to know that I suck. There's no excuse for taking so long to update this fic, and I'm so sorry I left y'all hanging like that. With the kind encouragement of many, however, I finally got off my ass and updated for the first time in more years than I care to recall. The inspiration is back, at long last, and I'm going to finish this story come hell or high water._

_To help with this resolution, I'm going to make y'all a promise: I will have the next chapter of this fic published before Christmas. Hopefully I'll get it out a lot sooner, but with my history of epic procrastination, I don't want to swear to any time sooner than that. :-p_

_I hope you enjoy, gentle readers._

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It was good to be naked again.

The attic was cool even on this unusually warm afternoon, and I was resting bonelessly in the light spilling from the room's only window. With my shell propped up against the wall, I leaned the back of my head against the flaking wallpaper, soaking up the sun spilling over my sprawled legs. Light glinted off the half finished beer sweating in my hand, and a large bottle of aspirin had reduced the ache in my freshly stitched and bandaged arm to an occasional dull twinge. There was a world of decisions left to make, and the pressure of it was like a sword hanging over my head, but this respite was the best I could reasonably expect from the universe at the moment. I was determined to take full advantage.

Movement flickered at the edge of my vision, and I rolled my head lazily to the side, watching as the trees just beyond the window glass swayed with an unseen wind, their browning leaves bobbing and weaving in exuberant counterpoint time. One last dance before dying.

Feeling something dangerously close to contentment, I drained the last of my beer in one long swallow, bitter bubbles crackling against my teeth. Belching eloquently, I glared at a crumbling wooden chest lying just out of reach, which held the remains of a six pack stashed there by Casey seven months prior. Despite my most impressive glower, the last bottle refused to leap out of the chest and into my waiting hands. I sighed and staggered to my feet, my arm protesting sluggishly, and felt the world blur and tilt ever so slightly to the left. One lousy case of severe blood loss, and suddenly I was a cheap date.

Deciding against that final beer, I tossed the empty bottle into the attic gloom, wincing a little at the resulting crash and tinkle of breaking glass. I was halfway down the creaking steps leading to the first floor, keeping a cautious grip on the railing, when a tantalizing smell lept up the stairwell and smacked me across the face. I inhaled an appreciative breath. The aroma wasn't entirely familiar, but its undercurrent of hot grease promised to make my arteries clang in just the right way.

I made my way to the kitchen, avoiding the creaking floorboards with the help of memory and long practice. A breeze twined through the kitchen's partially opened window and ruffled April's hair, the short curls blazing in the afternoon light. She was bent over a sizzling pan with heat shimmering over her face, leaving brush strokes of red across her cheekbones. Still oblivious to me, she frowned lightly and poked at an unidentifiable lump of something with the blade of her spatula, which hissed and spat grease in furious rebuke.

Unable to contain my curiosity any longer, I took a couple of steps forward and peered around her arm. "What's that supposed to be?"

To her credit, only one shoulder jerked in surprise before she relaxed and threw me a lopsided grin. Gesturing dramatically with her spatula and nearly splattering me with hot grease, she said, "Fried spam and eggs. The dinner of champions!"

My treacherous stomach grumbled even as I stared down at the pan in quiet horror. "Spam isn't food for people, April," I said slowly. "It's made of whatever can be chiseled off the slaughterhouse floor."

"It's also full of protein, just like these powdered eggs." She pointed at a plate positioned next to the stove, which was piled with something that did indeed look vaguely yellow, as well as a mound of green beans and some glistening slices of canned peach. "I've spent years taking care of you guys after you've been injured, and I know you need lots of protein, fiber and sugar while you heal. Most humans would keel over inside a week with a diet like that, but it seems to work for you guys."

She fished out the square of faux food, positioned it on the plate with exaggerated care, and then held the whole thing out to me. I took the offered meal with some trepidation, the breaded spam glistening like ambrosia's ugly stepsister. "So how long, exactly, have you hated me?"

She snorted and flapped her gloved hand at me dismissively. "It was the best I could do, you big baby. Next time we'll stay at a hotel, and you can order room service."

I huffed out a laugh and sat at one of the only clear spaces on the dining room table, which was covered in a Frankensteinian mishmash of cable and computer parts. The keyboard and sensor pad of her laptop, its screen missing and casing badly cracked, was connected by a mess of wires to a boxy, old-style monitor. The monitor itself was connected to a power strip and extension cord, which snaked along the floor and into the next room. The monitor screen was on and flickering, and to my surprise, I recognized the wallpaper that usually decorated April's desktop. She'd somehow managed to cobble together a working computer in the span of a few hours, which was yet another reminder that, when it came to brains, she was in a whole other plane of existence from me.

"I thought those weren't compatible with each other," I said, pointing at the monitor and laptop.

She sat down carefully in front of her contraption and ran her fingers fondly over the ravaged casing. "Nah," she said, "that was actually the easy part. The keyboard's ribbon cable was torn, which was what gave me fits for a while. Thanks to Donnie, though, I've gotten very good at jury-rigging with scavenged parts. It was just a miracle the motherboard wasn't damaged."

The mention of Don's name chased away the last vestiges of my buzz, as well as any appetite I might have had. I knew April would be hurt if I didn't at least try the food, though, so I speared a lump of meat and look a cautious bite. My taste buds stood up and cheered approval, and I caught a glimpse of April's smug expression as I stared incredulously at my empty fork. Hunger slunk back to join the party, and I ignored her pointedly as I began to tuck in with earnest.

A silence fell over the house, broken only by the scrape of fork tines against porcelain. I was content to dwell in the hush for a while, wrapping the tenuous peace around me like a cloak and thinking about nothing very much.

Too bad April seemed to have a different idea.

"We could live here, you know. The three of us," she said suddenly. Her voice sounded muffled, and I looked up to see her glove clamped lightly between her teeth, her gaze locked somewhere in the middle distance. "It's quiet and isolated, and no one knows where we are. It's the perfect opportunity."

There was a wistful tone to her voice that made my gut clench. I set my fork down with exaggerated care, the remains of my dinner having lost all appeal. "You want us to abandon our homes, my family's gravesite, and just… stay here?"

"It'll be hard on all of us, especially you. But we don't need graves to remember them, and you know as well as I do that they'd want us to be safe." She rested a hand on my arm, her gaze understanding, sympathetic, and everything I didn't want to see. "Forget Karai and Stockman and everyone else. We could start a new life here, and find a little peace for ourselves."

The sound of my chair sliding back was a harsh baritone chord in the quiet of the room. My hands clenched of their own accord, shoulders tensing as the weight of too many choices once again settled like a mantle around my neck.

"My family's murderer still breathes, and you want me to hide in the ass-end of nowhere and play _house_?"

"I loved them, too, Raph. If their killer was to walk through that door right now, you wouldn't be the only who'd do something unpleasant." Pain and anger creased the skin between her eyebrows, and it took obvious effort for her to dismiss it, bleeding out the emotions one long sigh. "But there are things that are more important than revenge," she continued softly. "Keeping us safe and together is all that matters now. And… I know that nothing can stop the two of you from hurting, but maybe it wouldn't be quite so sharp, so constant, if you were away from the lair for a while. There are too many memories in that place."

I regretted eating now. The food was a rock in my stomach, and the lingering taste of the peach on my tongue had become a cloying, poisonous sweetness. An abrupt headache bloomed in my skull, throbbing from the pressure of emotions I couldn't begin to verbalize. In that moment, I missed my brothers with an ache that went all the way to my bones. If any of them had been here instead of me, they would've been able to express the feeling that suddenly had me tied up in knots, explaining to April why her sensible, compassionate idea was wrong in every way.

But all that was left was me, and the only words I had were destined to warp into twisted, ugly things. Which left me with only one option.

I turned on my heel and left.

* * *

It was difficult to find a suitable place to sulk on a bright and breezy afternoon, but anything was possible with enough determination. After fighting my way into a pair of sweat pants and an old jacket I'd found in a closet, I spent a while stomping through the woods behind the house, my bare feet kicking through decaying leaves. The earth beneath felt damp and cool on my toes, acting as a pleasant counterpoint to the light spotting through the trees and heating my skin beneath the jacket's hood. The only sound came from the little birds that flitted above me, their cheery cries almost alien to someone who'd spent his whole life with the dull roar of a city in his ears.

I eventually settled for the water-rotted dock that jutted over a small river, which twisted itself in knots about half an acre away from the farmhouse. Its lazy eddies served mainly as a haven for bullfrogs and the occasional copperhead; the waterweeds having long since crowded out whatever fish might have once lived there. That'd never stopped Mikey from trying his hand at fishing, though. His expression at the sight of the furious frog dangling from his line remained one of my fonder memories.

I sighed hard and cursed under my breath, fishing out a cigarette and lighting up with hands that had begun to tremble. This moment, right here, was one of the problems with April's little proposal. Every familiar place served as a stage for memories I could summon at will, and even at new locales I could feel them at my back, whispering in my ear. They were etched in my skin now, burrowed into my bones, and I would sprout wings and fly before I found a place where their ghosts didn't trail behind me.

Smoke fled from the ember at my fingertips, and I tilted back my head to catch the breeze, enjoying the feel of the sun on my skin. To myself, at least, I could admit it _would_ be easier here. The farmhouse had always been a place of healing, and it was tempting to shrug off the weight and tell the world to go fuck itself. The dead would still haunt me, but they'd be easier to ignore in a place with sunlight and grass, and air that didn't scrape the lungs raw.

The problem was, I had a stubborn streak that was just about legendary, and a lifetime of hard living had ensured that I held on to the things I had with both hands and a couple of toes. I didn't know _how_ to let go of anything, be it family, ideals or a grudge, and I wasn't sure I wanted to even if I could figure out the trick. The farmhouse was a refuge, but it wasn't home, and I was pretty sure it never would be. I'd give up the lair if I had to, but first I had to at least _try_ to take back what was ours.

I'd promised Leo, after all.

My thoughts continued in this same circular, largely useless pattern long enough for the sun to dip below the trees. The air cooled rapidly as the day started to settle and dim, and a sizeable number of cigarette butts had collected in my pocket before I became aware of the sound of April's approach. Her leg brace wasn't much good for terrain rougher than a sidewalk, but there was something about the determined shuffle and slide of her steps that told me that she'd keep it up all day if she had to.

I considered getting up and helping her, but settled instead for lighting yet another cigarette. She'd made it most of the way here on her own already, and trying to coddle her now would just piss us both off.

The rustle of damp leaves became the dull clank and scrape of metal against wood. Her presence suddenly loomed at my back, her breath hissing through her teeth as she tried not to pant from exertion. With my gaze still locked on the water, I transferred the cigarette to my left hand and wordlessly offered her my good arm. She took it immediately, her fingers digging into the muscle of my forearm as she slowly, awkwardly lowered herself to sit beside me.

"I woke Leo and fed him," she said, her voice a little breathy. "He's in the living room now, listening to some old jazz cassettes."

I doubted he was doing much listening, but I nodded my thanks anyway. She seemed content with that, and the quiet drifted down to keep me company again. The toes of April's sneakers were just touching the surface of the water, and when she kicked out lightly with her good foot, it sent ripples that radiated out to touch the far shore. In the distance, a dog barked.

For a moment, I imagined what it'd be like to have a thousand more evenings like this. To live in a place where I could see the stars at night, and to sleep in a room where I could wake up to the sound of birds. To live life a little more slowly, in the company of people who cared for me against all common sense.

I flexed my hand absently, watching as the tendons bulged beneath my skin, which was crisscrossed with a latticework of tiny gray-green scars. Those marks were part of a lifelong lesson I'd be stupid to ignore. The world had a way of knocking me on my ass at unguarded moments, and the only way to survive was to not let it take me by surprise. Lasting peace was a dream, as real and enduring as a soap bubble.

"You're right," I said suddenly, startling us both. "About all of it. The lair's stuffed to the ceiling with ghosts. It fucks with my head, and it's gotta be doing the same thing to Leo. It _would_ be better if we stayed here."

She crossed her arms over her stomach, as if warding off a sudden chill. "But?"

"I can't. I won't. The place is a crumbling memory pit, but it's _mine_, and I'll be damned if I'll let anyone from the Oroku clan take it from me." I watched out of the corner of my eye as she grimaced, worry carving lines around her mouth. "You were right about something else, too. There're things more important than revenge."

I took a drag from my cigarette and coughed, my throat beginning to feel raw from too much smoke. "If Stockman's the killer, then you know as well as I do that he'll never stand trial. Conventional justice won't work with him. All that's left is me."

I really did believe that. Master Splinter hadn't been a vengeful person, but he'd taught us about justice, and I knew that sometimes it could only be found at the tip of a blade or at the end of my fist. It was a truth that had entwined itself through my soul, and I had no desire to try a different path this late in the game. Especially not now.

Not when every hour drew me closer to the murderers. Not when I wanted so badly to see them bleed.

"Okay. I had to ask, but… okay." She straightened and looked at me fully, her mouth curved into a half-smile that seemed solely for my benefit. "So what do we do now?"

"_We_ do nothing," I snapped, sudden unease acting as a striker for my anger. It'd been too close last time, too damn close, and if Karai had been as much of a monster as I'd first thought, the last remnants of my family would be rotting in the ground right now. Death had passed over them by a hair's breadth, and I would burn this world to ash before I let it get so close again. "_You'll_ stay here and watch over Leo, and _I'll_ go back to New York and fix everything."

Feeling too agitated to sit any longer, I tossed my cigarette into the river and stood. The planking creaked dully beneath my feet as I crossed my arms over my plastron, my fingers gripping my covered biceps hard enough to hurt. Once this was all over, Leo had to come with me, because there wasn't any place for us freaks to belong except with each other. Our nature meant we'd never be safe, no matter how carefully we hid ourselves, but it was a fact of life I'd come to accept. April was human, though, and she had a million and one chances to create a better future for herself. It hurt like hell to admit it, but the only thing holding her back was us.

Feeling equal parts resolute and bleak, I glared at a drowned tree at the water's edge and gritted out words I didn't want to say.

"Leo's gotta stick with me once this is all over, but you don't, which is why you're going to stay here. You'll never get a better chance to find that peace you talked about. You're sure as hell not going to find it with us."

"That's not going to happen," she said, rejecting the notion outright. "We're family, and I-"

"Even with my screwed up DNA, you still have more in common with a lemur than you do with me," I interrupted bitterly. "You don't have any obligation to us, April. You never did. We're not family."

There was a whisper-soft gasp, and the pained sound of it unwillingly drew my eyes back to her face. Her hands were loose in her lap as she stared up at me, and she couldn't have looked more hurt if I'd stabbed her in the heart.

Silence opened up between us like a wound, and I regretted the last fifteen seconds with every bit of me. My resolution fragmented, held together only by lingering stubbornness and the fast-dying belief that I was doing the right thing. I had to protect a least one person, keep at least one of them safe, otherwise what good was I?

I uncrossed my arms with a low breath, my bandaged arm aching and heavy as it hung at my side. Feeling about a thousand years old, I forced myself to turn away.

I made it less than a step before a gloved hand snaked into my own. I froze like I'd been dipped in liquid nitrogen, entirely incapable of taking another step. She might as well have nailed my feet to the planking.

"You don't mean that," April said.

Her voice was calm and measured, but buried beneath it all was a new emotion; a trembling chord of uncertainty that had never been there before. I felt like the worst person in the world.

And maybe I was. If I was a little stronger, just a little more resolute, I'd lie and walk away. I'd hurt her forever, but once Leo and I were gone, she'd finally be safe from us. It was nothing more than the prodding of amorphous instinct, but I still had a sick, creeping suspicion that this was my last chance to save her from the gravity well our world had become.

Entirely without my bidding, my hand tightened around hers, and I knew then that I couldn't do it. I was going to let her drop into the dark with the rest of us, all because I couldn't bear for her to think we didn't love her.

"Christ..." I sighed, utterly defeated. "No, I don't. I didn't mean a goddamn word of that."

I turned and crouched down beside her, the dock creaking as my weight settled on the balls of my feet. There was relief in her expression, but her eyes remained suspiciously bright, and I gave her hand a clumsy squeeze before releasing it. I let her collect herself, watching as she swiped at her eyes with her glove, before I blew out a low breath and ran a hand over the broad expanse of my face. A nap would be just the ticket, but the day was ending fast, and it was too late now. I had promises to keep, after all, and miles to go before I could sleep.

I blamed Leo for that last bit. If it wasn't for him and his literary obsession, Robert Frost wouldn't be invading my brain.

"Maybe you haven't been keeping track," I said, "but in the ten years you've known us, things haven't exactly been sunshine and daises. You've been kidnapped, terrorized, drugged, poisoned, stabbed, beaten, and _set on fucking fire!"_ I tapped at a thin strip of scarred flesh that peeked out between her glove and sleeve, frowning a little when she reflexively smoothed down the cloth to hide it. "That last one damn near killed you. I know you have all the survival instinct of a suicidal lemming, but even you've gotta see that it's better to stay as far away from us as possible. You can't be _that_ much of a masochist."

She rolled her eyes heavenward, as if asking for patience. "And you call me stupid."

I snorted and was about to continue my logical, reasoned debate as to why she should run screaming for the hills, when she stopped me by tapping my plastron with a knuckle. The distinctive 'thunk' was slightly muffled by my jacket, and she took advantage of my surprised pause to say, "No. You've said your peace, and now I'm going to say mine. I'm not your doormat, and I will have an equal say in this conversation."

There was steel in her tone, and it quite thoroughly shut me up. Raising an eye ridge, I made a sweeping gesture with one hand, offering her the proverbial floor.

"I love you, Raph," she said quietly, in matter-of-fact way that made the breath freeze in my chest. "And I love Leo, too. Those aren't just pretty words to say when I'm happy or when things are easy. I mean them all the time. Even when you yell at me, or when I'm scared, or when the world is crumbling down around my ears."

April paused and stuffed her hands into her pockets, turning away from me to stare out over the river. A waterbug darted from behind her dangling feet and skittered soundlessly over the top of the water, its tiny legs barely dimpling the surface.

"'I love you' means that I don't want safety unless you're both safe, too. It means I don't want peace unless we all have a chance to share in it. It means you're stuck with me, you poor bastard, whether it's here or in New York, or smack-dab in the middle of hell." She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, that wedge of blue diamond-bright with challenge. "Don't think for a moment that I don't mean it."

She was family, all right; stubborn, brave, endlessly loyal, and just a little bit dim when it came to self-preservation. We didn't deserve her.

Ignoring the sudden splintering in my throat, I unfolded out of my crouch and offered her my hands. I helped her lever herself to her feet, and by unspoken agreement we both started walking back to the house. Birds called out their farewells as we stepped into the woods, leaving the dock behind, and I didn't mind in the least when April threaded her good arm through mine.

"God," I said, when I could trust myself to speak again, "you are such a sap."

"Guilty as charged," was the wry reply. A moment of silence passed between us, comfortable this time, before she continued, "Let me ask again. What are we going to do?"

"Nothing's changed much about the first part. I still want you to stay here and take care of Leo, while I figure out whether or not Karai is lying to me." I shrugged expansively and plucked a leaf from an oak tree as I passed. It separated easily from its branch, the dried leaf powdering in my hand like a butterfly's wing. "Once everything's settled, though, we'll leave here and go back to New York. What happens after that is anyone's guess."

"But we'll do it together, right? The three of us."

Once again, treacherous, unreliable instinct perched on my shoulder and breathed catastrophe in my ear. I tightened my grip on her arm and mentally told it just where it could stuff its warning. It didn't seem to do much good.

"Yeah," I said, ignoring the churning in my gut. "Together."

* * *

It was almost dark by the time I was ready to leave, the sun sinking below the horizon and leaving a fading trail of red that set the dying trees on fire. I was standing at the entryway with the hem of my sweater gathered awkwardly beneath my chin, performing a last minute check of my belt pouches. Everything seemed to be in order, and I ran a thumb over the shard of Don's shell for good luck before closing the pocket and letting the hem fall back into place.

In blatant defiance, the hood of my purloined jacket was refusing to lie in the proper position to hide my face. I was fighting a losing battle with it when the sound of April's limping steps made me pause, a lip of cloth dangling rakishly over one eye. She smiled at my wardrobe malfunction, seemingly unmoved by the glower I sent her way, and offered me a crumbled slip of paper filled with her cramped, exacting script.

"These are the names and locations of every company that has opened, reopened or bought out property on the New Jersey waterfront in the last six months. If Karai is telling the truth, then Stockman's business should be on this list."

I took the slip of paper with some surprise, scanning down the list of names and addresses. Wireless wasn't available at the farmhouse, which meant that April had to have done her research with a dial-up connection. The strain of it must have nearly killed her.

"Thanks, April," I said, stuffing the paper into the pocket of my sweatpants. "This'll make things a lot easier."

"I hope so." She paused, and then reached up compulsively to straighten my hood. "Call me as soon as you can, okay, and let me know what you've decided. And for once in your life, don't be reckless! Remember that you have people to come back to."

"Like you'd let me forget." I said wryly. Her hands were still hovering around my face like nervous birds, and I captured them in my hands and gently pushed them away. "I can't promise much, but I'll try not to do anything _too_ stupid."

I glanced passed her anxious face and into the den, where Leo sat in the rocking chair, the old wood creaking slightly as he swayed. Something rolled in my chest, barbed and full to bursting with a thousand things never said, and I felt my mouth twist into a frown of its own accord.

April saw the change in my expression, and a quick glance over her shoulder was enough for her to deduce the reason. Bless her perceptive heart, she swallowed back whatever else she had planned to say and simply bent down, brushing a kiss over my cheek. Her lips were soft against my pebbled skin as she whispered, "Good hunting."

She turned without another word and left the room, leaving behind a breath of her perfume and the memory of her words in my ear. Suddenly I was alone with my brother, the overhead light gleaming wetly over his new scars, and for the life of me, I had no idea what to say.

The floorboards squeaked sullenly as I moved to stand in front of him, and I sighed deeply as he continued to stare intently at nothing, doing his best Whistler's Mother impression. If Splinter had been the soul of my family and Mikey its heart, then Leo had been the will, the driving force that pulled us to our feet and urged us onward. It was too bad that, even now, I couldn't tell him how lost I was without him at my side, irritating the hell out of me.

Out of the corner of my eye, the last of the brightness bled from the world, leaving behind delicate layers of deep purple and midnight blue. This was the perfect time to leave, and every moment I wasted trying to find words was another moment I might not be able to spare. Silently cursing my failure, I gripped the back of his head and touched my forehead against his. If nothing else, I could leave him with a promise. Leo knows I always keep my word.

"See you soon, bro," I said.

My breath mingled with his for a final, crystalline moment, and then I pushed away. The door slammed shut behind me when I left, locking away the light and warmth, and I shivered against the encroaching night chill as I made my way to the barn. The car started without fuss, and I backed out into the driveway, my only company the sound of insects and the crunch of gravel beneath my tires. I forced myself not to look back as I pointed the hood towards New York City and left my family behind.

Six hours of exquisite boredom later, I parked in a narrow alley next to a New Jersey police station, the shadowed stretch of concrete just out of sight of their cameras. Feeling exhausted already, I levered my stiff, aching body out of the car, smiling a little as the noise of the city hit me like a slap. For better or for worse, this place was home, and despite the smell of smog creeping stealthily up my nasal passages, it was good to be back.

Working quickly, I fished out the cleaning supplies I'd stashed in the back and began scrubbing down the car, doing my best to ignore the headache worming its way into my skull. The police had April's fingerprints and DNA on record, but I'd had some experience cleaning up a crime scene before, and I was cautiously optimistic that they wouldn't find anything. The cops had bigger things to worry about than a single stolen car, after all; especially one that had been abandoned on their doorstep less than twenty-four hours later.

I spent the rest of the night with the smell of salt-cured planking and dead fish in my nostrils, skulking around warehouses and dodging night guards as I worked my way systematically down April's list. Most of the companies seemed boringly legitimate, with the occasional mob front or illegal pharmaceutical ring thrown in for spice.

The sky was beginning to lighten between the buildings, and I was feeling a little loopy from exhaustion by the time I hit pay dirt. In an otherwise deserted stretch of shipping yard, a company by the name of Ecio's Stockpile and Trade had set up shop in a building whose paint was still pristine in the light of the street lamps, which were staked at every corner of the property. The name was ambiguous enough to spark suspicion, and the high fence was threaded with electrical lines and decorated with coils of razor wire.

It all seemed a bit extreme for a lowly trading company, but what really made my alarm bells ring were the guards. Instead of the usual fat man with a flashlight and taser, these guys were far more numerous, and they patrolled the grounds with predatory intent. Muscles rippled underneath their blue uniforms, which all were padded at the chest with what could only be bulletproof vests, and their hands were weighted down by weapons that looked suspiciously like military-issue M16s. I was spying from the rooftop of a nearby building, so I couldn't see their faces, but something about the way they moved told me their expressions would be implacable and sympathetic as stone.

If these guys weren't mercenaries, then I was a goat. One of Stockman's chief failings had always been this lack of subtlety, and these walking tanks had his signature all over them.

I crouched down until I was completely swallowed by shadow again, and I leaned my shell against the concrete wall. The roofing tar was cool and slightly damp beneath my toes, and my shoulders tightened as a rogue breeze wrapped a chill tentacle around my neck. The cloudy sky above me was transformed into a flat, baleful red by the city lights, and I felt an unexpected pang of longing for the farm.

I sighed and looked down at my hands, rubbing them against each other with an audible rasp of hardened calluses. This was it; time to make the decision I'd been stumbling towards from the moment Karai had left me alone in a cage, my head stuffed with stories. My memory readily called up her expression as she stepped into my strike range, my bandanna in her hand, and challenged me with that calculated moment of vulnerability. Daring me to trust.

It was one of the things I'd struggled with for the past day. I wasn't exactly dim-witted, but I'd never been very good at making decisions that required grand leaps of faith. I trusted only my family; the only people on earth that had never let me down.

And so, in the crux of the moment, I closed my eyes, gathered their ghosts close to me, and listened to the sound of their voices.

* * *

I spent the day in fitful sleep in the basement of a condemned building, and made for the cemetery an hour before dusk. It took more rooftop ducking and dodging than I was comfortable with, but I managed to make it unseen to the cemetery a few minutes after dusk. Scaling the iron fencing easily, I skulked atop a length of scaffolding that propped up a crumbling wall, casing the place and trying to locate all the cameras in my immediate vicinity. It soon became apparent that the Foot had already taken care of them, for the two wall-mounted cameras I found had been hooded with black burlap sacking. The fact that cops weren't crawling all over the place right now told me that Karai had taken care of any guards, too. For their sakes, I hoped Karai had resorted to bribery.

Only a few lamp posts dotted the walkway beside the cemetery, giving the flat stone markers and high, water-damaged headstones a somber, ominous shine. The North Wall stretched out a few dozen yards in front of me, quietly beautiful with its aging, patchwork stone, which was inset haphazardly with pale marble placards. The wall towered over the heads of the three humans standing patiently in front of it, the squares of white stone reflecting the glow of a single torch speared into the ground.

It was all depressingly dramatic, and I wasn't exactly surprised when a black-clad ninja melted out of the gloom inside a cracked mausoleum and stood in front of the scaffolding, its masked head titled up to stare at me. With deliberation, the figure pulled off its hood, revealing a dark-skinned woman with a lean, lovely face. She widened her stance and spread out her hands, revealing graceful fingers and empty palms, which was about as harmless as a member of the Foot clan could make themselves.

"Hamato Raphael," she said, in a smooth alto that I know Mikey would have loved, "Mistress Karai bids you greetings."

My hiding place obviously sucked, so I dropped down onto the grass without preamble, frowning a little when it became obvious she towered over me. Seemingly unaffected by the grim, inhuman face framed by my hood, she bowed her head in a slight gesture of regard. "Mistress Karai requests that you leave your weapons with me," she continued. "This will be a peaceful meeting, and all parties must respect that with a show of unburdened hands."

It was an effort not to knock her on her ass and run right then, my temper automatically flaring at the thought of giving up my sais. The fact that she didn't ask me to give up my belt, with its healthy collection of shurikens and garroting wire, gave it away for the symbolic gesture it was, however. We were still perfectly capable of killing each other, but Karai's sense of drama demanded that certain conditions must be met. Swallowing my pride was a nearly physical ache, but I slowly reached into the holes of my sweater pockets and drew out my weapons. Her body language tensed minutely, and I smirked a little before flipping my sais around and presenting them hilt first.

She took them from me with deliberate care, and I held onto the prongs long enough to say, "I'd better get these back."

The nameless woman nodded solemnly. "You have my word."

She bowed to me again as I reluctantly let the prongs go, before waving me towards the three figures, where the whiteness of Karai's face glowed harshly in the firelight. I made my way slowly to her with grass whispering beneath my feet, feeling terribly exposed and knowing I was being watched from all sides. Twenty years of conditioning was screaming warnings at me, and it was only the memory of my rooftop conversation with the dead that kept me from bolting.

The snap and spit of the torch seemed to be the only sound as I came to a halt, the usual clamor of the city gradually fading into unimportance. The two clan members flanking her were as unmasked and empty-handed as the one who'd taken my sais, and I noted that Karai's sword and sheath were missing, too. She nodded to me and spread her hands in an open-palmed gesture that I grudgingly copied.

"Raphael," she said without premise. "Have you come to a decision?"

I took a deep breath and looked into her serene, emotionless face. The presence of my family surged and swelled at my back, offering me the strength for what I knew I had to do.

Pressing my palms together, I bowed my head over them, my gaze never leaving hers, and said, "This one time only, Karai... I'm in."

There was a breathless pause, and then Karai bowed over her own hands, her bodyguards echoing the gesture in perfect harmony. The torchlight arced and flared, and in it, her eyes burned.


	22. April: Fronte Praecipitium A Tergo Lupi

**AN: **_Woo! A promise made is a promise kept, even if only barely. *Falls over*_

_I must say, I was both surprised and touched by the responses I received for the last chapter. They were all overwhelmingly kind, and I'm so glad my scribblings still have the power to entertain. Thank you all so much!_

_This installment was unbetaed, so please feel free to point out any grammar errors or fiddly bits I might have missed. I need all the help I can get. :-)_

_Since it seems to give me the proper incentive, I'm going to make y'all another promise: I'll have the next chapter out by the end of February._

_Without further ado, gentle readers, I hope y'all enjoy. Happy Holidays!_

* * *

The cell phone had been wedged in the crook of my neck and shoulder long enough for my ear to go numb, and my mother still showed no signs of stopping. I risked holding the phone away long enough to stretch out my neck, poking experimentally at my ear in an attempt to regain some feeling.

My poor, abused extremity had barely begun to tingle when I heard the faint timbre of her voice change, taking on a questioning lilt. I hurriedly jammed the phone back into place just in time to hear her ask, "You still there, dear?"

"Yeah, mom. Just shifting position." I belatedly did just that, the wooden porch swing creaking as I stretched out my good leg. "You were saying about Aunt Julia?"

"Oh, it's not important. I've been prattling on for too long as it is. How have you been?"

_My leg aches, Leo's still on a coffee break from reality, and Raph is off to possibly start a war. Oh, and we're all kinda homeless now. How about you?_

"Not too bad," I said, injecting just the right amount of cheer. "I'm sort of… on vacation right now, actually. I thought it'd be good to have a change of scenery, so I drove out to Casey's farm on Friday."

It was mostly a lie, but a chance to enjoy the stillness of the farm _had_ been a bright spot in this mess we'd gotten ourselves into. If I wasn't destined to spend most of this lovely Sunday worrying about Raph, gone for thirty-six hours now, it might have actually been relaxing.

She sighed in that long-suffering way only another mother could copy. "April, you know you shouldn't be driving for that long by yourself. What if you'd cramped up, or fallen asleep at the wheel? You know how-"

"Mom, relax. I didn't make the trip alone. I brought my friends with me."

There was a tense pause, and I knew then that I should've kept my mouth shut. "Your friends. The ones you don't talk about. The ones whose pictures I've never seen, whose names I don't know." She sighed again, and I felt a pang as I imagined her touching her temple with two fingers; a gesture of frustration older than even me. "I hate to be blunt, baby, but you've always had a knack for getting into trouble. It seems to have gotten ten times worse, though, right about the same moment you met those mysterious friends of yours."

"They haven't done anything wrong!" I snapped, my voice sharper than I'd intended. I took a deep breath and watched the morning light peeking through the tree branches, making an effort to settle my ruffled feathers. "Sorry to yell, but they really haven't. They would never do anything to hurt me."

"You say that, but how am I to know?" The aggravation in her voice was years old, but it was the love threaded through her words that made it hurt. "You're so secretive now, baby. There's this huge part of your life that I don't know anything about, and it's obvious your friends lie at the heart of it all. You try to hide it from me, but that doesn't mean I haven't noticed how stressed you are all the time, how sad you've been. It would make sense, but I can tell it's not only about your… injuries. Casey's murder doesn't quite cover it, either."

I sucked in a breath at the mention of Casey's name, fighting a fresh stab of grief and wallowing in frustration at my utter inability to explain. My mother was an intelligent, perceptive woman, and she'd always been able to tell when I was lying, even if it was just by omission. No matter how much it pained me to keep quiet, though, or how badly I needed her advice, I just couldn't confide in her about this. 'My friends' would be as close as she would ever come to knowing them.

The silence between us had begun to stretch to painful lengths, and to my shame, I was relieved that it was my mother who crumbled first.

"I'm sorry, my dear," she said quietly, tiredly. "I didn't mean to rub salt in the wound, I just… I don't understand, and it makes me worried. You've been through so much recently, and even now, I can tell you're suffering. I want to protect you so bad it makes me crazy, but how can I do that if you won't give me the whole picture?"

Even if it didn't directly violate the vow I'd made to Splinter, the 'whole picture' would take days to explain, and it would probably get me committed. And if not that, then one of my sins by omission might be enough to force my straight-laced, law-abiding mother to call the cops, since I knew a lot more about Casey's murder than I'd ever explained to the police.

Poor Raph had tried to make Casey's death look like an accident, both to save his family unnecessary pain and to keep him from being implicated in the explosion that had leveled a building and destroyed our world. He was partially successful, since the 'terrorist bombing' and the fire at Casey's apartment were treated as unrelated incidents. It was difficult to hide the fact that the valve on his antiquated gas stove had been jammed open, however, and when his on-again, off-again girlfriend was found at a hospital a few hours later, burned and broken and three-quarters dead, it hadn't taken long for the police to put two and two together and make five.

I'd initially been labeled 'a person of interest' in the burgeoning criminal investigation, but to my immense relief, a background check and a few hellish interviews at my hospital bed had convinced them otherwise. They now believed I had no memory of being hurt or of arriving at the hospital, and ever since then, they had treated me with a kindness and compassion I wasn't sure I deserved. As best as they were able, they had kept me abreast of the investigation, and I'd had little choice but to appear intrigued by every one of their increasingly inaccurate theories.

Their latest one involved Casey's history of taking matters into his own hands when it came to injustice; a personality trait that had gotten him arrested on more than one occasion. Drawing from that, they theorized that he had tried to play vigilante with a particularly nasty new gang; one that had decided to enact a very final form of revenge. How I had wound up on the hospital's doorstep was still a mystery, but the current notion was that, as unintended collateral damage, I'd been rescued by a sympathetic member of the group.

My sweet, crazy Casey, picked off by a couple of street punks. He would've been insulted at the very idea.

"I'm sorry," I said finally. "I really am. I want to tell you everything, but I made a promise a long time ago. We're each only as good as our word, after all. You're the one who taught me that."

My mom snorted; an inelegant sound that surprised a grin out of me. "I never thought I'd regret raising you right."

"Just trust me, mamma," I said affectionately. "My friends have done nothing wrong, and my life is so much better with them in it."

"You become more like your father every day, my dear. Okay, then. We'll leave it lie for now." The 'for now' didn't exactly inspire confidence, but true to her word, she changed the subject immediately. "So how's Northampton? Are the leaves still clinging to the trees?"

I relaxed gratefully and shifted the phone to my other ear, preparing for round two of our latest gab session, which seemed destined not to end in tears this time. I had missed the easy way we used to talk to each other, each of us soothed by the sound of the other's voice.

"Some of them are, yeah," I replied. "A good portion has started to decorate the clearing behind the house, though. The grass is starting to look like a patchwork quilt…"

* * *

Mom had said her goodbyes at about ten, and the day was sliding gently into the afternoon by the time I took a break from worrying in a furrow into the carpet. Determined to stop obsessing over the Raph-shaped hole in my life (gone for nearly two days now. Call me, damn it!_)_, I fed Leo, poked listlessly at the Franken-computer still taking up most of the table, and did a little light cleaning. Afterward, I gathered up Leo, and we sat together in the den room, listening to a slightly fuzzy marathon of Elvis songs on the radio.

Knowing that it needed to be done, I rolled up the sleeves on my sweater, stripped off the glove that protected my left hand, and grabbed a small bottle of lotion from the physical therapy kit in my backpack. Humming tunelessly to 'Blue Suede Shoes,' I pulled Leo's arm into my lap and began massaging the lotion into the burn scars on his arm, which began above his wrist and laddered all the way up to his shoulder. It was hard going, since the scars were thick and his arm was a sculpture of corded muscle even now, but this wasn't something that could wait. Raph was usually the one to do it, twice a day, without fail, but since he wasn't here-

Not thinking about that, remember?

I was insulting hound dogs with Elvis and kneading my tired fingers into the tangle of scars at the base of Leo's throat when my phone began to ring. Grumbling to myself, I fished the cell out of my pocket with two fingers, dropped it into my lap, and clumsily knuckled it open. I hit the speaker button, leaving behind a greasy print, and got back to work on the skin just above Leo's plastron. "Hello?" I grunted.

"April."

The familiar timbre of my name sent a shock through me, and I grinned like an idiot down at my lap. "Raph! It's good to hear your voice. I was starting to get worried."

Raph must have been smoking a cigarette, because he let out a loud, lazy exhale before saying, "'Starting?' I thought that was your default setting."

"Ha, ha. Funny turtle," I replied, tense muscles I'd barely been aware of loosening in my shoulders. The sarcasm in his voice had been heavy enough to use as a paperweight, and by the sound of it alone I knew that he was just fine. "So tell me what happened. Did you find Stockman's place? Which company was it?"

"Ecio's Stockpile and Trade. I can't know for sure until we crack the place open, but the whole building screamed of Stockman. Motherfucker was always too flashy for his own good."

My hands paused at Leo's jawline, and I felt my heart quicken a half measure. "'We?' I take it you made your decision regarding Karai."

Another long exhale. "Yeah. We're best buddies now."

I snorted and continued working on Leo, gently massaging the delicate tissue around his mouth, in the hopes that these ministrations would someday ease the involuntary, lopsided frown that marred his face. I paused briefly to study him, just in case his brother's voice had managed to coax him closer to the surface of his own mind. His expression remained blank, however, with his eyes locked at some point beyond my left shoulder. It was an effort not to let my disappointment show.

"So you trust her?" I asked.

"Heh. Never. But she's got the manpower and a plan that's just stupid enough to work. So we'll see." He paused tensely, and I was struck by a mental image of him crouched in the shadow of an overhanging roof, the red glow of his cigarette highlighting one bony knuckle; the only visible part of him. "The party starts at midnight."

Letting my hands drop to my lap, I closed my eyes and attempted to rub some life back into my aching fingers. "Be careful, Raph," I breathed. "Be so damn careful."

"I'll do what I can, but no promises." Something in his voice changed then, taking on a grimmer edge, and he said, "I do need one from you, though. I'm banking on coming out of this with just a few new and exciting scars, but we both know things don't always turn out the way we plan." He hesitated, and what he said next left me cold and fumbling for the phone. "I want you to promise me you'll stay at the farmhouse and keep Leo safe, in case I get myself killed."

Too late, I grabbed my cell and hit the speaker button. Pressing the phone to my ear, I levered myself to my feet and limped away from the couch, attempting to shield Leo from his brother's words.

"Raph, what the hell?" I hissed. "How can you ask that?"

"I'm not asking," he replied, his voice as implacable as stone, "and beating around the bush was never my style. I need your word."

I bit absently at a knuckle on my damaged hand, fighting for calm. As much as I didn't want to acknowledge that he might not come back, how could I deny him this?

"I- God, Raph. You have it. Of course you do. If something happens, I swear I'll take care of him for the rest of our lives. He's my family, too."

"I know. I just needed to hear you say it." There was a pause, and I heard the tinny sound of a siren's wail from several hundred miles away. "You've… been good to us, you know. To me. You don't get-"

Somehow, this attempt at emotional sincerity scared me more than anything else he'd said so far. God help us, he must really be worried.

"Don't start with the sap, or I'll start thinking you're a pod person," I cut in quickly, ignoring the way my gut was twisting up in knots. "Just come back _alive_. That's all any of us needs, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said with an edge of laughter. The lightness ended quickly, though, and when he spoke next, he was once again solemn. "I'm turning off my cell now. The next twelve hours are going to be busy, and I can't afford distractions. See you later, April."

It wasn't exactly a promise, but I knew it was the best I was going to get.

"See you," I said, an instant before the line went dead.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat and dropped the phone back into my pocket. Taking a seat at Leo's side again, I squeezed a dot of lotion onto my trembling hand and began to work on my own scars. Gentle circular motions first, then up and down, and finally side and side, just like my therapist had taught me.

"He'll be okay, Leo," I murmured, keeping my eyes down. "He'll be okay."

* * *

There was no way I'd be able to sleep by the time midnight rolled around, so I put Leo to bed a little before six, hoping we could both catch a few hours sleep before it became time to drive myself crazy with worry. It took more effort than usual to coax him into slumber, but he eventually drifted off to the sound of fallen leaves whispering over the grass beneath his window. The afternoon was a little cool, but I threw an extra blanket over his feet and left the window open a crack, anyway. Leo had always enjoyed the feel of wind on his face.

In better times, my room had been the most coveted in the entire house, since it had a small television positioned at the foot of the bed, connected to an oversized DVD player. I was feeling a little restless still, despite the tiredness pulling at the edges of my mind, so I threw in a movie before I wrestled out of my leg brace and slipped under the covers. The familiar opening strains of 'It's a Wonderful Life" quickly filled the room, and I smiled as I propped myself up with several pillows wedged under my back. My mind might never settle enough to let me sleep, but with a beloved story to keep me company, it was almost guaranteed that I would rest.

Despite my doubts, I must have managed to drift off, because the squeaking of a marker against whiteboard was the next sound I remembered hearing. I straightened in the bed and stretched, blinking in defense against the bright fluorescents that whitewashed the familiar walls of the laboratory. The scutes of Don's shell had turned a flat, pale brown under this light, bisected by ridges of deep shadow, which shifted in time with his busy movements. The marker clutched in his hand left bright red trails of his looping script across the whiteboard.

There was something strange here, something deeply wrong, but my thoughts were still muzzy and slow from sleep, and the sense of not-right soon faded away. Unable to figure out a use for the large, unwieldy brace taking up space by the bed, I swung my legs over and kicked the thing away with a clatter of metal rods. I stood easily and walked over to Don's side, coming to a halt just beyond his shoulder, close enough to hear the gentle cadence of his voice.

"Most of the universe is missing," he murmured, tracing out a series of nines with the marker. "All visible matter in the universe -every one of half a trillion galaxies, with every star and planet that dances within them- only accounts for about two percent of its total mass. The rest is what we call dark matter, which resists all our attempts to see or properly define. Typical, really. So much of what makes us whole is hidden away."

"Atoms are much the same," he continued, tapping at the number scrawled across the whiteboard. He hadn't turned to face me yet, and his voice remained low, as if he was the only one in the room. "Over ninty-nine point nine nine percent of an atom is composed of empty space. For example, if my fist is as big as its nucleus, then the atom itself would be as large as St. Paul's Cathedral, with maybe an electron the size of a moth flitting around the alter. Can you imagine it?"

"Yes," I said to the back of his head. For a reason I couldn't understand, since he was here and had always been, I wrapped my arms around him and rested my cheek against the rough upper ridge of his shell. I whispered, "I miss you."

He still didn't seem to be aware of me, but he reached up and casually rested a hand against his plastron, covering my fingers in a familiar, callused warmth. "If you were to take every atom from every person in the world and force them together, removing the empty space within them, then all those cathedrals would collapse inward, leaving behind a mass about the size of a sugar cube."

The feel of his hand disappeared, and I looked up to see him write out the beginnings of a complex equation. My breath caught as the red numbers quickly turned watery, ran together and pattered against the floor. The marker was gone, and he was finger-painting the equation with a dripping, blood-soaked hand.

"Imagine it," he said obliviously, as I jerked away from him in cold horror. "If the circumstances were just right, I could literally hold the human race in the palm of my hand."

"You're bleeding," I choked out stupidly, wanting to reach out to him but unable to, my fingers tacky and weighted down with blood.

Don finally turned his head to look at me, and he grinned with a mouthful of glistening, red-rimmed teeth.

"Don't worry," he said gently. "Where I went, no one ever runs out."

As I watched blood drip slowly off his chin, I felt something deep within my soul curl in on itself and die. I let out a whimper, and the bright brickwork around me began to crack and crumble like badly fired clay. I turned on my heel and ran, and I was able to burst through one wall as easily as breaking the surface tension of water, fragments of mortar catching briefly in my hair before falling away. Suddenly I was in the den room of my childhood home, watching Raph thread fishing line through a large bone needle.

The horror I had felt during Don's lecture fragmented and fell away like snow, and it didn't return even when Raph drove the needle through the fleshy pad of his right eye ridge. I sat in my father's ratty lounge chair and idly twirled a cigarette pack resting on the nearby end table, watching with mild interest as Raph's needle traveled down to pierce his lower lid.

He began to sew his right eye shut with a series of neat, criss-cross stitches, and I asked, for some reason still unafraid, "Why are you doing that?"

"Don't need it anymore." He shrugged and snipped off the end of the line with a pair of scissors. "And if you break that, I won't need the other one, either."

I was confused for a second; until I looked down to see the glass turtle spinning beneath my lazy fingers, its tiny shell and delicate feet blackened, warped and pitted by some disaster I should have been able to remember. Terror surfaced then, enveloping me like quicksand, and I fumbled badly as I tried to cup the whirling glass figurine in my hand. It skittered off the table and hit the floor with a sound like dying, shattering to diamond dust and scattering new constellations across the dark blue tiles.

"Well, fuck," Raph muttered. With a sigh, he began to thread another needle.

Ignoring my pleas to stop, he began to stitch the remaining eye, and I eventually fell sobbing to my knees atop an endless, midnight sky. I reached down into the heavens, desperately trying to gather up the stars, to force those bright shards back together and recreate a whole. They slipped through my grasping fingers and cut my hands to pieces.

With a jerk that I felt in my entire body, I forcibly tore myself out of the dream. Closing my eyes again almost immediately, I covered my face with my hands and curled in on myself, choking down a moan. A dream, that's all. Just a dream.

I'd managed to mostly convince myself of that by the time I pulled my hands away. I blinked blearily at the television and watched as George Bailey ran down the dark, forbidding street, away from Clarence and a world gone suddenly mad. The music was swelling ominously as he collapsed against the decaying door of his former home, and an exaggerated pang of empathy prompted me to turn off the television and settle back against the pillows. An hour had passed since I'd fallen asleep, maybe even less, and it didn't take long to realize that would be all I'd get for a while. Damn my subconscious for turning sleep into the enemy.

After a few more fruitless minutes of lying still with my eyes screwed shut, I finally gave up and threw back the covers with a sigh. There was enough late afternoon light seeping through the curtains to allow me to move about freely, so I buckled up my leg brace in the gloom and set out down the hall.

The quiet of the house was broken as I let out a jaw-cracking yawn, visions of coffee dancing in my head. As I took a step, one of the old floorboards unexpectedly shifted under my weight, and I threw out one arm to keep my balance. My fingers brushed against Leo's door, and I was surprised when it pushed fractionally inward with a mournful squeak of rusting hinges.

The sound brought me up short, and I gave the door a speculative glance. I was certain I'd closed it, but everything about this house was old, so it's possible that the latch had slipped. Shrugging mentally, I closed my fingers around the knob to give it a proper tug… and felt a breeze slip through the crack and twine itself around my fingers, bringing with it the scent of late autumn.

Something cold passed through me then, a feeling that made a dark place in my heart prick up its ears and sniff the air. My hand moved of its own accord and shoved the door hard enough for the squeak of the hinges to turn into a scream. The wood impacted the far wall with a hollow bang, revealing an empty room and a wide open window, the plastic blinds bent, broken, and swaying gently in the breeze.

"Leo?" I called, my voice quavering and soft with disbelief.

With adrenalin arrowing beneath my skin like a shockwave, I turned sharply and limped as quickly as I could into the den room, hoping desperately, foolishly, that Leo had simply awoken and sought out the familiar comfort of the rocking chair. But the chair was empty, the seat long gone cold, and an agonizing trip up the stairs to the second floor confirmed what I'd known since I first felt the breeze shiver across my skin.

Empty, empty, gone... God, have you no pity left for me?

I made one last effort and took my search outside, starting at Leo's window and heading outward. It was a beautiful evening, despite the chill, and the sweet trill of birdsong seemed to mock me as I struggled through the undergrowth. I doggedly blazed my own trail, fighting through a tangle of overgrown weeds and calling Leo's name through a throat clenched so tight it hurt. I received no answer and found no sign of him, except for a small tear of brown cloth that matched his sweater, impaled on a dagger-sharp bramble branch.

A lone mutant out in daylight, mentally unhinged and emotionally devastated, but at least he'd remembered to dress warmly.

There was nothing funny about that notion, but I giggled anyway, gripping the bit of cloth tightly as the world suddenly blurred. It was only when I felt warmth track down my face that I realized I'd started to cry.

Knowing that the search was worse than pointless, since I would've had no hope of catching him even when my body was whole, I turned around and went back to the house. I found myself in Leo's room with no clear memory of how I'd gotten there, the scrap of cloth still clutched tightly in my hand. I looked down at it for a long moment, uncomprehending, before intuition gave me a weak nudge, urging me onward.

I limped over to the open window and the chest that rested beneath it, where I'd placed all of Leo's things for safekeeping. He had taken his clothes when he left, which meant…

I jerked open the chest and stared bleakly down at the empty interior, before letting the lid fall with a sound I swore I could feel in my bones. Sitting down heavily on the paisley-draped bed, I turned the frayed strip of brown over and over again in my hands. I felt blasted and old, my heart cored out like an apple, deafened by the phantom sound of glass shattering against tile.

Leo was gone, and he'd taken his swords with him.


	23. Leonardo: The Years that Walk Between

A thousand and one 'thank you's go out to **JennaLouise** for her invaluable help with this chapter. She's a marvelous beta and an excellent writer, and it would serve you well to check out her fics.

_**AN: **__It took a little longer than I said it would to finish this chapter, and I apologize for that. I'll do my very best not to keep y'all waiting again, gentle readers. Let's say May 10__th__ for the next chapter, okay?_

_I have a little thing for T.S. Eliot's work, as may be apparent by the end of this. 'Ash Wednesday' is public domain and happens to be fantastic. _

* * *

It was later, and the void had become a restless place.

Leviathans stirred in the endless black, their sinewy forms swift and darting, dagger mouths wide open and hungry. Seeking out the core of once-was-and-might-be, they shredded the stillness into fragments of sensation and bits of half-remembered speech, proving peace a liar.

"_-help you find your way back," _one of the dark forms chittered. "_Stay with us now. Stay with-"_

"_Where are you, Leo?"_ another hissed. "_Where did you go that we-"_

Curling inward was the only recourse, spiraling down and away, fleeing deeper into a place that should have been a perfect refuge. The fear that nipped and chased behind felt like betrayal.

"_Ecio's Stockpile and Trade. I can't know-" _whined another. It was too close, far too close, and through the core, desperation lanced. "_-in case I-"_

"_Everyone get outta here! Get out NOW!" _one screamed, and never had madness seemed so wise.

.

...opened my eyes to discolored wallpaper and the feel of a cool breeze against my skin. Something deep in my soul rose up in revolt, and my hands clenched spasmodically, wadding the scratchy comforter in my fists. A familiar paisley pattern. Hideous. I'd never understood why Casey liked...

.

Running had proven to be worse than useless. Creatures crowded in above, unseen but suffocatingly close, filling up the black with endless whispering.

"_Just don't bail on me anymore, bro," _one giggled, its hide a shark skin rasp against the core. "_It's getting too hard-"_

"_The party starts at midnight," _the other sobbed."_-in case I-"_

Oblivion had been earned, a place of respite both created and craved, but now monsters wheeled in an ever-shrinking gyre, and there was nowhere left to go but down. A nightmare Coriolis Effect leading to a place so much worse than this.

Something flared, then, a sodium flash of emotion so consuming it felt like hate.

"_-in case I-"_

.

...goosebumps prickled over my skin, with the doorway an open maw behind my shell and a nameless panic clawing up my throat. The hallway stretched out on either side of me, oppressive in the gloom of the windowless expanse, while fragments of memory flickered behind my eyes too quickly to fully grasp. This place was pain and laughter and Christmas tree lights, and the smell of long grass at midday. Not home, but something almost as precious. The farmhouse. Sanctuary.

Some of my terror faded, enough so that I could focus on the sounds coming from the room at the end of the hall. Music and human speech, combined together in a way that should have been familiar.

I didn't remember moving, but suddenly I was at the door, the old wood rough against my forehead as I pressed my face against the jam. Through the narrow crack, a woman slept restlessly, trapped by pillows and washed out in the light that strobed from the television set. Troubled dreams had drawn lines of tension around her mouth and eyes, and her gloved hand with its delicate, scarred fingers flexed once in a blind reach for help. The sight squeezed the breath from my lungs, weighing down my ribs with lead.

Her name was April, and I knew that I loved her. I just couldn't remember why.

.

The end began as an old story, with the prey cowering and cowed, while the monsters circled inward with the rolling ease of carnivores that know their prey cannot escape. The core had nowhere left to run, and all that remained was a gibbering hyena chatter, which wailed and chittered and laughed in ways that had nothing to do with joy.

"_He'll be okay, Leo. He'll be okay,"_ one jeered.

"_Just trust me, okay?" _another mocked, dagger claws raking lines of sudden agony over the core. In a paroxysm of delight, the monster brayed, "_I need you, damn it! -in case I-"_

The will to flee was gone, and the will to fight had never been. No help. No appeal. Surrender had become a forgone conclusion, almost a relief.

And then another spoke in tones of wicked glee, and the core lunged with sudden, explosive fury, intent on razing it all to the ground and salting the ashes.

"_-stay at the farmhouse and watch over Leo,"_ the other had laughed, right before the void filled up with screaming, "_in case I get myself killed."_

.

…I landed badly on the other side of the window, my heel rapping hard against the windowsill an instant before my shoulder dug into the damp earth. Weapons rained down around me in a tangle of sheathed blades and leather strapping, and I caught one sword instinctively, cradling it against my plastron. Its weight on my chest felt like an anchor, and I clung to it with all my strength.

My free hand curled reflexively around the hilt as I blinked up at the pale blue sky. I felt suddenly dizzy, disconnected again, as if I was spiraling up to be lost in that endless, devouring blue. Screwing my eyes shut in defense, I arched my feet and ground my toes into the loose earth. I was desperate not to be here, and for a long moment, swelling blankness rolled around in my soul, beguiling me with the promised absence of feeling.

But then I knew, and a moment later I was tearing a path through the grass, buckling on my swords as I ran.

I remembered brother. Brother was in trouble.

A piece of my sweater was torn away, wrenching the cloth violently as it was pierced by a bramble spike. I checked my hood automatically, making sure it was still pulled low to hide my face. It was important not to be seen. Someone I once knew had told me that.

Despite the urgency that spurred me on, I'd barely made it to the road before exhaustion slowed me, lactic acid spiking through my weakened muscles like knitting needles. Gasping, my lungs stuttered in my chest as I leaned against the rough bark of a twisted oak tree, my throat aching almost as much as the scars on my shoulder, rubbed raw by the sweater. Grass seeds tickled in my nostrils, and the nearby sound of birdsong grated across my overwhelmed senses like sandpaper.

Things were different now, but so much was scattered and missing from the wreck of me that I couldn't begin to piece together the fragments. Bits of memory and the rags of thousands of conversations tumbled through me like discarded newsprint, making my hands tremble and my lips peel back from my teeth. A distraction. A penance.

Something was very wrong with me.

I gripped the tree with both hands and buried my face against the bark. The rough wood scraped a line of fire across my cheek, and a sudden, hazy memory slipped through my brain like smoke. Brother, much younger and sporting fewer scars, who carefully drew a line of silk thread through a slice over my cheekbone. His eyes were clouded with some nameless irritation, but those blunt fingers with their knotted, granite knuckles were gentle and sure against my cheek. I remembered how relaxed I felt, safe with brother, until he finished with the stitching, surprising me with a hard clap on the shoulder and a barbed warning against further stupidity. I remembered laughing at him, even as my shoulder ached.

My caustic, grim, _funny_ brother, who could sometimes give even Mikey a run... for...

A whine bubbled up in the back of my throat, thick and choking, and I rammed my head hard against the wood until the sound died away. No time. Never enough time for this.

The memory eventually faded, and I found enough strength to lift my head and turn watery eyes toward the dirt road. Urgency was a chitinous, many-legged thing that scurried around under my shell, drawing lines of cramping anxiety though my gut. I was far from where I needed to be, but brother was in trouble. He was. He was. The only thing more unbearable than this walking nightmare would be failure.

A splinter of almost-familiar verse bobbed momentarily to the surface, bringing with it the memory of candlelight and a beloved, leather-bound book.

"Because I do not hope," I hissed, repeating it like a mantra, like a prayer. "Because I do not hope to turn."

My fingers began to unclench from the wood, slivers of bark sliding out of my skin with little stabs of discomfort. "Because I cannot drink," I said, gathering my will. "There where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again."

Shuddering hard, I clutched the harness strap in an instinctive attempt to anchor myself and began to jog down the dirt road. I kept my hood pulled low and face down, staring at the grass and pebbles that passed too slowly beneath my feet. A small part of myself, in a voice that sounded like someone I couldn't bear to recall, warned me that I was compartmentalizing. I didn't care. I couldn't bring myself to feel much beyond my own small universe, because I was needed, and I couldn't bear to fail again.

Despite my attempts to conserve energy, my heart was soon pounding, my breath wheezing around the words that had become my world.

"Because I know that time is always time, and place is always and only place." My hands were chilled from the afternoon air, and my breath was hot in the hood. There was nothing beyond this. "And what is actual is actual only for one time, and only for one place."

Salvation came with a sound that drowned out even the thunder of my heartbeat in my ears; a low knocking and an almost inaudible whine that spoke of an engine well on its way to the junkyard. My steps faltered and my head snapped up, the light stabbing into my eyes in a way that felt like panic.

Hunching my shoulders in preparation for a blow that never came, I cast a wincing glance over my shoulder and saw the truck ambling its way down the road toward me. Its dark green paint was peeling at the bumper, exposing a layer of rust that gleamed a malignant burnt orange in the sunlight.

"Because these wings are no longer wings to fly," I murmured uncertainly, as something rose up in my brain and began to clamor for attention, "but merely vans to beat the air."

Seemingly unconcerned by the jogger taking up space by the road, his formerly brisk pace slowing to a crawl, the ancient truck with its rounded wheel wells calmly closed the distance between us. In moments it was almost flanking me, and over the dull roar in my ears I began to hear the faint strains of music. Something low and almost mournful, buried beneath the distracting clatter and wail of drums and guitar chords. I didn't know why, but it set my teeth on edge and drove a wedge through the brittle chaos of my thoughts.

A moment of clarity, just a moment, but it was enough.

"Teach us to care and not to care," I said, stepping into the middle of the road. "Teach us to sit still."

The driver slammed on his brakes, and I felt an odd amusement as the truck skidded to a halt less than a foot from my plastron, the grill looming large in my down-turned vision. I heard a deep voice curse, saw the vehicle lurch as the driver pulled at the emergency brake, and then a worn, thin-faced man leaned out of the opened driver's side window and shouted, "What the hell are you trying to-"

The man's tirade stumbled to a halt as he began to sense that something was amiss, and when I looked up to meet his eyes, I could see the blood leech from his face. I had just broken a cardinal rule, but it was effective at freezing him in place for one crucial second. Through the jumble of fear in my heart, a small piece of me thrilled. Rebellion at last. Brother would be proud.

The name of his god was still on his lips when I surged around the vehicle and grabbed a handful of his shirt. Rough flannel was crushed in my grip as I drew one of my swords and plunged it through the window. The seat belt was severed instantly, and the man's scream was a straight razor slice across my psyche as I pulled him through the window and dumped him face first onto the gravel. For a moment that I knew would visit me when I next closed my eyes, he lay unmoving; a balding, lanky man heaped on the road like refuse.

And then he stirred, groaning fitfully, and I remembered to breathe again.

I climbed awkwardly through the window, settling into the cab as the man staggered to his feet and began to run back in the direction he had come, his hands protectively cradling his head. "For what is done, not to be done again," I called out to his retreating back. The guilt that visited me then seemed like an old friend. "May the judgment not be too heavy on us."

The whine of the engine wasn't nearly as loud inside the cab, which smelled vaguely of motor oil and warm leather. It took a moment to adjust, the man a dwindling speck in the rear view mirror, but I was soon able to reach up and grab the steering wheel with white knuckled fingers. Strangely, it was easier to think here, wrapped securely on all sides by metal and glass. Open spaces were the enemy, it seemed.

Another memory briefly surfaced, and I hurriedly popped the brake and shifted the vehicle into gear, my feet working the accelerator and clutch with a deftness I knew would disappear as soon as I attempted to analyze it. Best to leave things be. All that mattered was that brother was suddenly a lot closer.

"Wavering between the profit and the loss," I said, taking a deep breath as the truck began to roll again. "In this brief transit where the dreams cross."

There seemed to be nothing more to say, so I let the strange music carry me onward. It calmed my fractured soul as the gravel blurred and the sunlight glinted diamonds off the window, and soon all that was left was the memory of my brother's voice, making a promise to me that I intended to keep:

"_See you soon."_


End file.
